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COPYRIGHT, 1894, 
BY RUFUS C. HOPKINS. 



Press of C. A. Murdock & Co. 
San Francisco. 



THESE POEMS ARE INSCRIBED TO 

IN MEMORY OF PLEASANT HOURS PASSED IN THE 
INTERCHANGE OF KINDRED THOUGHTS. 



AN APOLOGY. 
I CANNOT tell, dear Charley Lane, 
How these poor children of my brain, 
Although to me they may be dear, 
Will in society appear. 

I o'er the motley brood have run- 
Have scanned their features one by one. 
To find if 'mong them there might be 
Aught that would credit be to me. 
And sure I am that never yet 
On earth were born so queer a set 
As are this reckless, ragged lot 
Which my wild fancy has begot. 

They all the offspring are of chance ; 
Are fitful as a witch's dance ; 
And grotesque, too, as pictures made 
By glancing play of light and shade. 
One gives a sigh and sheds a tear ; 
One curls the lip with scornful sneer ; 
One sings a song, one breathes a prayer, 
And some will even curse and swear ! 

Yet still fc- all their wayward cranks, 
Mischievous quips and wicked pranks, 
And though I 've cast them oft aside, 
Not caring if they lived or died, — 



DEDICATION. 

They still to me have constant been, 

In calm and storm, through thick and thin. 

The}' 've been with me in many a land- 
On mountain wild, on desert sand. 
On meadow green, and where the breeze 
Sings softly o'er the rolling seas. 
They 've stood around my lonely bed, 
And silent tears of grief have shed, 
When wasting sickness laid its hand 
Upon me in a foreign land. 

Now, Charley, friend, I do not know 
What Fortune may on them bestow; 
Perhaps they all will droop and die, 
When I " in cold obstruction " lie ; 
Nor do I know how they '11 behave 
When I am in the quiet grave— 
If they will keep their faces clean, 
And in condition to be seen, 
Whene'er invited they maybe 
Into the cream of company— 
Nor do I know but that their name 
May sometimes bring a blush of shame 
To him who would their guardian be 
When they can look no more to me. 

Still I, their author, well may feel 
An interest in their future weal, 
And ever while on earth I live 
Will warmest hand of friendship give 
To one who to them kindly came 
With shelter of an honored name. 

RuFUS C. Hopkins. 
San Francisco, January 22, 1894. 



THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 



AS it is customary to introduce a first edition by a 
/l preface, I presume it is incumbent upon me to 
do likewise. It is not my intention, however, to make 
any apology to the public, but only to write the few 
words which I conceive to be necessary. 

These poems have been written for amusement dur- 
ing the course of a long life, solely to please myself, 
and are simply records of varied conditions of the mind 
while observing the pictures made by the lights and 
shadows that fall upon the ever-changing panorama 
of Nature. I have, therefore, no excuses to offer for 
their defects. 

I neither expect nor desire fame from the publica- 
tion of these verses ; but should they chance to wake 
a smile on the lips of Sadness, dry a tear on the cheek 
of Sorrow, cause one to halt in a career of crime, give 
hope to a despairing soul, or throw one ray of light on 
the great mystery of destiny, — then I shall not consider 
they have been in vain. 

In sending them on this uncertain journey, I will say, 
as a loving father: "My children! I sigh at your de- 
parture ; for you are going with bare feet and uncov- 
ered heads, with no capital save your honest faces. 
How long we have been together! how often we have 



8 THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 

gathered around our humble hearth, to laugh at the 
vanities of the world, and sigh o'er the sorrows of man- 
kind ! And now we are to separate — I to remain by 
the deserted fireside, and you to fare forth to the 
world's thoroughfares. Farewell ! Grow not weary on 
the way, nor be discouraged, though howling winds 
should cover you with dust. Travel on!" 

RuFUS C. Hopkins. 

San Francisco, May 12, 1894. 



INDEX. 



Page 

Dedication — An Apology to Charles D. Lane 5 

Preface 7 

The Genius of Progress — California 17 

The Comet and The Mortal 26 

Malinche ; An Aztec Romance 30 

The Tree of " La Noche Triste " . . . . 78 

Epistle to a Friend [Thomas T. Bouldin] 81 

To a Withered Rose 88 

To the Memory of the Rose — Twenty Years Later .90 

Under a Cloud 92 

The Shadowy Land — Part I. 93 

" —Part II no 

Hymn to the Angels of Beauty 126 

Harmony .... 128 

Losada ; A Mexican-Indian Tale 129 

Man's Heritage of Freedom 159 

The Wandering Ghost of a Miser 164 

Lament of the Guardian of Earth 170 

The Gate of Justice 173 

To the Toiling Sons of Earth 179 

A Fragment — Lines on the Spirit of the Times .184 

Leland Stanford Jr. University 186 

The Dying Sinner and the Confessor 197 

The Sinner Before Saint Peter 202 

The Holy Coat 206 

The Materialist and the Spiritualist . . 207 

The Ancestry of Man : A Soliloquy 220 

The Improvement of the Human Race 222 



lo INDEX, 

The Realist and the Dreamer 225 

God Is Love! The Theologian and the Free-Thinker . . 229 
Good and Evil. The Priest and the Philosopher -233 

An Apology for the Devil 244 

The Unpardonable Sin 246 

A Chat with Horatio. Some Philosophic Advice about Hornets 247 

Suffering 249 

''Lay On, Macduff!" 251 

Compensation 252 

A Fragment 253 

Adversity 254 

A Dream of Erin 256 

The Children of Erin 260 

To the Genius of Poesy . 261 

To a Picture of Tom Moore 263 

To the Memory of Robert Burns 264 

William Shakespeare . 265 

Lord Byron .......... 267 

Henry Fielding .... 268 

Westminster Abbey 269 

To James Linen 270 

The Ancient Gael 271 

Letter to a Friend 276 

Song to Willie 277 

To Johnnie 279 

To a Sweet Singer of the Songs of Scotland . 280 

Answer to David Calderwood 282 

Allopathy and Homeopathy 285 

Gambling: A Defence of Governor Haight 287 

Woman 291 

Cuerudo 292 

Slander 293 

Fashion 294 



INDEX. II 

The Miser 296 

Freaks of Fortune 297 

A Social Chat with the Devil 303 

Prayer of the Rev. Ezekiel Mucklewrath 308 

Uncle Samuel's Farm 310 

To a Land-Bird at Sea 314 

The Shepherd's Lament 315 

Adieu to Thee, Effie 317 

The Broken Heart 318 

Recollections of Childhood 319 

The Wanderer's Dream of Childhood 321 

The Willow Tree 324 

The Poet at Home 325 

To Clara — On My Fiftieth Birthday 330 

Song to Little MoUie 332 

To Little Mary Asleep 333 

To Mary — On Her Fifteenth Birthday 334 

To Clem 336 

On the Death of a Poor Young Girl 337 

On the Death of a Friend, Who Died Among Strangers 338 

Epitaph on Sophie 341 

In Memory of Harry . 341 

In Memory of Clara 342 

On the Death of Dick, a Canary-Bird 344 

To My Familiar Spirit 346 

On a Lee-Shore 351 

My Seventieth Birthday 353 

Old Age and Time 355 

Turned Out to Graze 357 

The Voices of Childhood 366 

A Greeting to Carlos and Miguel 368 

A Fragment— "How long, O Nature, must I stay?" ... 370 

To Ila- On Her Eighteenth Birthday 371 



12 INDEX. 

To Ila — On Her Marriage 372 

The Old House 373 

They Have All Gone Before 377 

The Minstrel's Last Song 379 

I '11 Strike the Epic Lyre No More 381 

Death Scene 382 

The Two Harps 383 

Old Man and Death 384 

Let Me Not Sleep In the Valley Low 386 

Bones and the Grave-Digger 388 

The Argonauts of California 390 

A Los Mejicanos de California 393 

The Immortal Spirit 394 

The Hermit and the Prince: A Lesson of Life .396 

Drifting 406 

Imaginary Conversations between a Student of Nature and Sages of 

Antiquity 407 

Conversation I. Student and Pythagoras .... 408 

Conversation II. Student and Pythagoras ... 414 

Conversation III. Student and Pythagoras ... 424 

Conversation IV. Student, Pythagoras, and Ancient One 433 

Conversation V. Student and Ancient One 443 

Conversation VI. Student and Ancient One .... 453 

Conversation VII. Student and Ancient One 468 



ROSES AND THISTLES 



THE GENIUS OF PROGRESS. 



CALIFORNIA. 

The Warrior writes his name in blood 
Where once fair Art and Science stood, 
And sleeps, accursed by human groans. 
Beneath a monument of bones. 
The Poet leaves a deathless name 
Upon the loftiest peaks of Fame, 
Round which eternal sunbeams play, 
While empires rise and pass away. 
The Grecian mount has echoed long 
To Homer's lyre of epic song, 
And still the voice of Roman days 
Is heard in Virgil's pastoral lays. 
On Albion's moors and meadows green 
Immortal Shakspeare still is seen; 
The burning words of Byron's pen 
Still linger on the tongues of men; 
Hibernia's muse in sorrow weeps 
Where Tara's harp in silence sleeps; 
And heathery hill and flowery dell 
Still of the bard of Scotia tell. 

Led by these beaming stars of light, 
Let nie attempt a daring flight ! 
That I, perchance, a name may give 
To coming years that long shall live. 
I '11 carve it on the eternal rock 

* This poem was suggested by reading some N-ears since a work on 
'Geology, by one Evan Hopkins, in which was advanced a theory under 
-which the highest type of the human race would probably be found in the 
northern hemisphere of the earth.— H. 



i8 THE GENIUS OF PROGRESS. 

That still defies the earthquake's shock ! 

I '11 write it on the loftiest peak 

Of hoary mountain, bare and bleak ! 

I '11 leave it on the sunny plain 

Where wave wide fields of bearded grain 

I '11 trace it on the golden strand 

Of this far-spreading, beauteous land 

That looks with glance so proud and free 

Far o'er the rolling Western sea ! 

Then, come, my Muse ! my soul inspire, 
And tune for me the magic lyre, 
That I from mount and plain may bring 
The Genius of the land I sing : 

What do I see ? A female form 

Borne wildly on the rising storm ! 

A flowing, feathery robe she wears; 

A sacrificial knife she bears; 

Her dusky arms are sprinkled o'er 

With purple stains of human gore, 

And in her burning eyes I trace 

The Genius of the Aztec race ! 

With angry brow, and flashing eye 

She points to where old ruins lie. 

That mark where once her temples stood; 

And her grim altars streamed with blood. 

She 's borne away upon the breeze 
That floats across the Western seas — 
Another form I now behold, 
Clad in the garb of minstrel old; 
She bears the ancient shield of Spain, 
And chants a sad Iberian strain. 
Hark ! to the wailing song she sings 
To her wild harp of broken strings: 



No more by Duero's winding stream 
I '11 tread with step of pride, 



THE GENIUS OF PROGRESS. 19 

Nor sing the songs of love again 
By Ebro's rolling tide. 

" In stern Asturias' mountain land 
No more of war I '11 sing, 
Nor hear the shining Moorish blade 
On Spanish helmet ring. 

" Hushed is Hispania's voice of pride; 
Her days of power are o'er; 
Her mighty chieftains all are gone; 
Her minstrels sing no more. 

" No longer now her galleons spread 
Upon the ocean breeze 
The proudest banner that was seen 
Upon the Indian seas! " 

With drooping head she passes on; 
The weeping Genius now is gone — 
But crumbling ruins still prolong 
The echoes of her wailing song. 

And who is she that's coming now, 
Of queenly form and lofty brow ? 
Her rosy cheek and bright blue eye 
Tell of a cold and wintry sky. 
A mountain pine in snowy field 
Is shown upon her sturdy shield. 
And, by her spear and Cimbric brand, 
She comes, I know, from Odin's land. 

Bright Genius of the icy North, 
Why hast thou left thy land of birth ? 
What seek'st thou in this sunny clime 
That ne'er has heard of Runic rhyme ? 

" I come to tell thee, son of song, 
Of ages past, forgotten long — 
And that I now may show to thee 
A page of dim futurity. 



20 THE GENIUS OF PROGRESS. 

" My cradle was by mountain streams, 

'Mid rugged hills and forests hoar; 
My cradle-song the mighty winds 

That swept a wild, tempestuous shore. 
My playmates were the howling storms; 

I sported with the thunders loud; 
My rugged couch of flinty rock 

Was curtained by the mountain cloud. 
The forked lightning's vivid glare 

Flashed fiercely on the brow of night, 
And crimsoned were the murky clouds 

By the volcano's lurid light. 

" But this was when the earth was )^oung; 

I cannot count the ages o'er 
Since first I saw the lightning's flash, 

And heard the thermal oceans roar! 
'T was in those ages dim and dark. 

When mightiest thunders shook the earth, 
Before the golden cloud was seen. 

That Nature gave my spirit birth. 
And, nursed 'mid such tempestuous scenes, 

I learned my savage strength to try 
'Gainst powers that rent the heaving earth, 

And storms that swept the boreal sky. 

*' But, as the ages rolled along 

And decked the earth with tree and flower, 
I found that Nature's generous laws 

Had given to me a loftier power: 
The light of Reason slowly dawned, 

And shed its brightness on my soul. 
And whispering voices bade me rise 

And Nature's wildest powers control. 

" I looked abroad upon the earth; 
I looked upon the roUing sea; 
And with exultant pride I felt 

That my proud empire these should be ! 



THE GENIUS OF PROGRESS. 

'With mountain pine, and rugged stone, 

A dwelling rude I made, 
And from the dark and sullen ore 

I wrought the shining blade ! 
I smote the savage beast of prey, 

I scaled the beetling crag, 
And o'er the wide and grassy plain 

I chased the bounding stag ! 

" And age on age thus rudely passed, 

When lo ! a brighter fire 
Burned on the altar of my soul. 

And waked a new desire. 
I looked again upon the earth. 

And on the ocean blue, 
I looked upon the bloommg flower 

That drank the morning dew. 
My savage home distasteful grew; 

I longed for brighter things; 
I heard the voice that softly breathed 

The song that Beauty sings. 

"I pruned the wild and wayward vine; 

I tilled the sunny plain, 
And with a beaming eye of pride 

Beheld the golden grain ! 
I watched the play of light and shade 

On Nature's smiling face, 
And learned to paint the tree and flower, 

And forms of beauty trace. 

"The Column, Frieze, and Capital 

I from the quarries wrought. 
And in the marble's silent bed 

The sleeping Graces sought ! 
With tireless hand, the sculptured stone 

In Theban walls I laid, 
And reared on many a classic mount 

The marble colonnade ! 



22 THE GENIUS OF PROGRESS. 

'"Neath Chaldea's bright, transparent skies, 
I watched the stars by night, 
And worshipped on the Persian hills 
The burning orb of hght ! 

*' I watched the feathery vapors rise 

From out their drowsy sleep, 
And saw them borne on breezy wings 

Across the vaulted deep. 
And when loud thunders shook the skies, 

I saw the clouds again 
Poured down upon the thirsty earth 

In showers of summer rain. 

" As I beheld the ages roll, 
A new ambitio7i fired my soul ! 
I watched the course of Nature's laws. 
And longed to learn the secret cause 
That bade the starry lamps to burn 
And brought the seasons in their turn. 

"Young Science came!— a spirit bright, 
Who, with a magic key of light. 
Unlocked the treasure-house of Mind, 
And bade me seek, if I would find. 

''That I this counsel heeded well, 
Let History and Tradition tell ! 
Go read the ancient records o'er, 
And pages bright of modern lore. 

" In ages now in darkness hid, 
I reared the lofty pyramid; 
And records left that yet remain 
On Persian mount and Indian plain ! 

" In cavern dark, and desert lone, 
I sought the fabled magic stone, 
Whose touch could light the silent urn 
And bid the dust to life return. 



THE GENIUS OF PROGRESS. 23 

" With silent seer and hoary sage 
I scanned by day the occult page; 
And still beneath the astral light 
I sought the magic lore by night. 

** Through ages dim (now quite forgot) 
I sought the charm, but found it not — 
Alchemic science failed to tell 
Of magic stone or mystic spell. 

" Yet though the stars all silent were, 

They shed a light on me 
That led me on to range the fields 

Of bright Astronomy ! 
With old Copernicus I watched 

The circling seasons run. 
And traced the rolling planet's path 

Around the central sun ! 
I stood by Newton when he cast 

His plumb-line in the deep, 
And learned the laws that bid the orb 

Its circling orbit keep ! 
Saw Franklin chain the rending bolt, 

And clip the lightning's wing, 
And make its fiery, forked tongue 

A quiet, harmless thing ! 
'T was I, that taught laborious Watt 

To use the mighty force 
That drives the frigate o'er the deep 

And rides the iron horse ! 
'T was I inspired far-seeing Morse 

To teach the electric fire 
To bear a message round the earth 

Upon a slender wire ! 

" Now list to the sound of the humming wheel, 
And list to the thundering forge ! 
And hark to the neigh of the iron steed, 
As he drives through the mountain gorge ! 



24 THE GENIUS OF PROGRESS. 

These are my servants, and these are my slaves 

That labor and toil as I will; 
They toil all the day, and toil all the night, 

And are fresh and vigorous still. 
They feed on the wind; they feed on the flame; 

They feed on the flash of the leven; 
They ask not for rest, for their fierce-throbbing veins 

Are coursed by the lightnings of heaven ! 
A highway they 've made o'er mountain and plain; 

Have sounded the ocean so deep, 
And a pathway have laid for the treading of Thought 

Through the realms where the dark billows sleep ! 
They bore to the base of mountain and hill, 

And seek in the caverns of night 
The red golden dust, and the white silver ore, 

And the gems that glitter so bright ! 
Their footsteps are heard where the earthquake treads; 

They speak in the voice of the thunder; 
And with the fierce strength they bear in their arms 

They rend the dark mountains asunder ! 
They ride on the breeze, they touch the soft lute. 

And weave from the sunshine and shower 
The carpet that covers the meadow so green 

And the soft, bright leaf of the flower." 

PROPHECY. 

Strike now a harp of bolder string, 
And of the coming future sing ! 
And prophesy in song sublime 
Of things still in the womb of time. 

CALIFORNIA. 

The smiling Genius waves her hand, 
And lo ! I see a beauteous land — 
The brightest land that e'er I've seen, 
Of vine-clad hill and meadow green. 
The city, town, and village tell 
Of millions in this land that dwell; 



THE GENIUS OF PROGRESS. 25. 

And cultured field and fruitful vine 
Tell that it flows with milk and wine. 
Amid the humming sound of life 
I hear no voice of angry strife, — 
For smiling Peace and Concord reign 
From mountain top to sunny plain. 
The warrior's sword is rusted now; 
No laurels deck his haughty brow; 
His shining spear and sounding shield 
Now prune the vine and till the field. 
Strong Labor now, with skilful hand. 
With wisdom tills the fruitful land, 
While Science woos the smiling earth 
And watches for her children's birth ! 
Harmonious sounds, from far and near 
Fall sweetly on my listening ear — 
The age of strife and blood has passed, 
And Wisdom rules the world at last. 

The picture fades — the charm is broke, — 
And thus again the Genius spoke: 

" Now, son of song immortal, go — 

And tune thy harp to notes sublime; 
And sing of man's far-reaching mind 

That shall outlive the breath of Time I 
Its empire is creation wide; 

And, borne on Wisdom's wing of liglit, 
It yet shall reach the brightest realms 

And sound the darkest caves of niglit. 

"Behold the far-off twinkling star 

That lights the solemn, soundless deepi 
Go watch the trembling drops of dew 

That on the rose's bosom sleep! 
And know that thou the laws shalt learn 

That formed the far-off rolling sphere; 
That gilds the cloud, and paints the flower,. 

And shapes the silent falling tear." 

Sail Francisco, January, 1870. 



THE COMET AND THE MORTAL. 



Tell me, highwayman of the skies, 

Where in thy wanderings thou hast been ? 

And tell me of the rolling orbs 
That in thy travels thou hast seen ? 

And tell me, wanderer, what thou art — 
Sporadic light, without a place ? 

Or ghost of some departed world. 
Now homeless in the realms of space ? 

Or monster of abnormal birth, 
Untimely by convulsion hurled 

From Nature's all-engendering womb. 
An embryo of abortive world ? 

And, like an outcast, doomed to roam 
Through solar realms and Stygian night, 

Until thy wandering life shall end. 
And thy pale torch shall lose its light ! 

Then, tell me, wanderer of the skies. 
Where on thy journey thou hast been? 

And tell me of the rolling orbs 
That in thy travels thou hast seen ? 



I 'm from that lonely region far 

Where Darkness dwells and Silence sleeps; 
Where solar beams are never felt. 

Nor rolling orb Time's measure keeps. 

Where balanced forces mark the line 
That bounds the realms of solar sway. 



THE COMET AND THE MORTAL. 27 

Where laws attractive, shifting turn — 
And other central powers obey. 

I '11 tell thee, mortal, what I saw 
In that dark realm, so cold and drear, 

Beyond where far Uranus rolls, 
And Neptune's still more wintry sphere: 

I saw by the light of my flaming torch 

As it lit up the solemn gloom, 
The shadowy forms of the wasted worlds 

That in that region had found a tomb ! 

And they hung like phantoms in the soundless void, 

And no record of time they kept, — 
For they drank no life from the solar beams 

As on that silent coast they slept. 

These phantoms once were living worlds ! 

Born of some glowing orb of light; 
They had their morn, their glowing noon. 

Declining eve, and dreamless night, — 

When they were cast upon that shore, 

Where they in slumber long remain. 
Until the eternal laws of force 

Bid them awake to life again. 

They wake again ! but not the same 

As when in glowing robes of light 
They drank the rosy beams of day. 

Or gemm'd the ebon brow of night. 

They go to feed the wasting fires 

Of that controlling central Power 
That gives its life to all that moves, 

From rolling orb to blooming flower ! 

My mission is to course the realms 

From central sun to solar bounds; 
And countless ages have I passed 

In travelling on these mighty rounds. 



28 THE COMET AND THE MORTAL. 

I gather on the silent coast 

The wrecks of worlds, whose lives have run; 
I bear them to the solar orb, 

And give them to the glowing sun ! 

Again, from off his shining skirts 

I 'm launched into the depths of space- 
Again, with burning torch renewed, 
I start upon my distant race ! 

But now the time approaches near 
When I shall leave the solar plain; 

Will sail the starry deep no more, 
Nor light the midnight sky again. 

All forms of matter transient are; 

They live a while their fleeting day — 
They have their youth and their decline. 

And then, by chafige, they pass away. 

Thus I'm approaching now mine end; 

This circling journey is the last — 
In which upon elliptic curve 

ISIy perihelion will be passed. 

When next I seek the solar beams, 
From my long journey I will rest 

Within the burning orb of day, 
And die upon his glowing breast. 

From whence I '11 be sent forth again — 
Perchance, to mould the drop of dew, 

To paint the golden clouds of eve, 
Or give the rose its blushing hue. 

Thus change is writ on all that moves, 
From mightiest orb to tiniest thing; 

From oak that shades the mountain side 
To flower that decks the breast of spring.. 

The sun hhnself s,h2i\\ lose his light; 
The lamps of night shall cease to burn, 




THE COMET AND THE MORTAL. 29 

And, by the eternal laws of chafige, 
To other forms of being turn. 

Now farewell, mortal ! when again 

I seek the realms of solar day, 
Thou, with all the sons of earth, 

Wilt surely long have passed away. 

San Francisco, 1874. 



MALINCHE; 

AN AZTEC ROMANCE. 



ARGUMENT. 

The following dramatic representation is taken from the account of the 
Conquest of Mexico, as given by Bernal Diaz, the quaint old chronicler 
of Hernando Cortez, whom he accompanied on his expedition to Mexico. 

Hernando Cortez, with his adventurous companions, sailed from the 
harbor of Havana without the knowledge of his father in-law, the Gover- 
nor of Cuba, with whom he does not appear to have been on friendly 
terms. 

Touching at the island of Tabasco, Cortez rescued from bondage Malin- 
che, known in Spanish romance as Dona Marina. She accompanied him 
through Mexico, acting in the capacity of an interpreter, in the meantime 
falling desperately in love with him, Bernal Diaz remarking that she soon 
learned the Castilian tongue, for with her it was the language of love. 

The story, though told in verse and somewhat embellished, substan- 
tially corresponds with the account as given by Bernal Diaz. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



SPANIARDS. 



HERNANDO CORTEZ, Conqueror of Mexico. 

PEDRO DE ALVARADO, 1 „■ . , y- e.. • ^ r- ^ ■ 

GONZALO DE SANDOVAL, \ Htdal.,os of Sparn^ and Cou.pamons 

ALONZO DE AVILA, J '^ ^''''''^ 

OLMEDO, a Priest. 
CHIEF PILOT. 
LOOKOUT. 

Sailors, Soldiers, and Servants. 

AZTECS. 

MONTEZUMA, Emperor of Mexico. 

CUITLAHUA, Brother of Montezuma. 

TLASCALAN CHIEF. 

HIGH PRIEST. 

MALINCHE, a Princess (in love with Cortez). 

TAZMALA, her Companion. 

SPIRIT OF MALINCHE'S FATHER. 

Priests, Warriors, Maidens, and Victims. 

Scene: Havana; on board ship ; a7id i7i Mexico. 



MA LIN CHE. 31 



ACT I. 

Scene I. — Casino in the Havana; Gonzalo de Sandoval 
and Alonzo de Avila seated at a table. 

AVI LA {to servant). 
Bring us wine, Diego, — the best you have 
Of bright Andalusia's richest vintage ! 
We '11 drink, Gonzalo, to our absent loves 
And to the Grand Captain's bold adventure. 
Come, fill a brimming cup ! and pledge with me 
The fairest maid that dwells by Arno's stream — 
The sweet Maria! Behold her picture ! 
Hast ever seen a more enchanting face ? 

SANDOVAL, 

'Tis passing fair; but more, in sooth, I love 
To look upon an Andalusian face. 
Than that of fairest maid that ever dwelt 
By Arno's stream, or gathered dewy flowers 
Upon the vine-clad hills of sunny France. 

Bright are the maids of Gallic blood; 

Italia's damsels fair to see; 
But, for the fiery glance of love, 

The Andalusian maid for me! 
The dark-eyed maid of Andaluz ! 
The bright-eyed maid of Andaluz ! 
Aye, for the burning glance of love, 
Give me the maid of Andaluz ! 

Her cheek is Hke the blushing rose; 

There 's honey on her ruby lips; 
And wildly throbs her heaving breast 

When love their mad'ning nectar sips. 
The Andalusian maid for me ! 
The Andalusian maid for me ! 
With glowing breast and melting eye. 
The Andalusian maid for me ! 



.32 MALINCHE. 

AVILA. 

Bravo, Gonzalo ! a good song and well sung — 

But more I love the dewy spring 
Than summer's fierce and fiery breath: 

The one brings gentle, sweet repose; 
The other oft is fraught with death. 

Then give to me the gentle face, 
And I '11 content and happy be; 

No fierce and burning glance would I, — 
The gentle eye of love for me ! 

So you can have the fiery eyes 

To wake you from your midnight dream; 

But give to me the gentle maid 
That dwells by Arno's silver stream. 

Aye, give to me the gentle face, 
And I '11 content and happy be; 

I do not love the burning glance, — 
The gentle eye of love for me ! 

But enough of love and wine, Gonzalo! 
We must to work — for we have much to do 
Ere we may meet our absent loves again 
Beneath the Andalusian skies, or on 
The sunny banks of Arno's silver stream. 
Dost know the hour at which Hernando Cortez 
His anchor weighs, and to the ocean breeze 
Gives the proudest banner that e'er has led 
The conquering arms of vSpain ? 

SANDOVAL. 

When from the land the breeze to seaward sets, 
The fleet will sail. I have the Admiral's orders 
To be that hour aboard. 

AVILA. 

' Tis well; we there will meet. Now let us take 
A farewell cup of Andalusian wine — 

With hope that we may meet again 
Beneath the sunny skies of Spain. 



MALINCHE. 



Scene II. — On board the AdmiraV s ship. 



Til 



PILOT. 

Pipe, boatswain! pipe the cheering strain 
That calls to heave the anchor-chain! 
From landward now the mountain breeze 
Blows softly o'er the rippling seas; 
So, boatswain, pipe the cheering strain 
That calls to heave the anchor-chain! 
Boatswain btoivs his whistle ; sailors heave on capstan.l 

ONE VOICE. 

Heave O! heave O! heave ahead! 

ALL. 

Roly, boly, roly O! 

ONE VOICE. 

Heave the anchor from its bed ! 

ALL. 

Roly, boly, roly O! 

ONE VOICE. 

Heave O! heave again! 

ALL. 

Roly, boly, roly O! 
Heave upon the anchor-chain, 

Roly, boly, roly O! 
O'er the rolling seas we go 
To the land of Mexico! 
[i^'-'^/^r Alvarado, Sandoval, Avila and Olmedo.] 

OLMEDO. 

Don Pedro, is the anchor weighed? 

alvarado. 
The anchor 's up, and we are off to sea! 

OLMEDO. 

Gracias a Dios ! 
May San Antonio give us breezes fair! 
[Enter Cortez.] 



34 MALINCHE. 

CORTEZ. 

Well met, brave comrades! 
To-morrow, ere the sun shall gild the East, 
We '11 be away upon the rolling deep; 
Free as the bird that skims the crested wave, 
And daring as the eagle in his flight. 

ALL. 

Aye; we '11 be as free as the ocean winds! 

CORTEZ. 

Sons of proud Iberian sires, 

Of Hispania's noblest blood ! 
Warriors on the battle-field, 

Seamen on the rolling flood ! 
Heroes of a hundred fights — 

In Asturias' mountain land, 
On the sunny GaUic plains, 

And on Afric's burning sand — 
Let us, ere we leave this shore, 

Plight the proud hidalgo's word 
That each will be as bravely true 

As is his bright Toledo sword ! 
\^All drazu their swords.'] 

CHORUS. 

By the hiked cross we swear 
That, where'er on earth we are — 
On the wild and rolling main; 
On the arid desert plain; 
By the watch-fire burning bright; 
In the dark, tempestuous night; 
Where the tide of battle swells, 
When the brazen trumpet tells 
That the fight is lost or won, 
And the ghastly strife is done, 
We will by each other stand — 
Heart to heart ! and hand to hand! 
With our Chief we '11 stand or fall, 
So swear we one — so swear we all! 



MALINCHE. 35 

By the cross's sacred name; 
By our hopes of deathless fame; 
By all that now on earth we love; 
By all we hope in heaven above — 
With our Chief, we '11 stand or fall; 
So swear we one — so swear we all ! 
S^All kneel and kiss their cross-hilted swords. '\ 



ACT II. 



Scene I. — Off the Coast of Mexico ; snow- clad peak of 
Orizaba visible on the distant horizoji. 

LOOKOUT (/« maintop). 
Land ho ! Land ho ! 

PILOT. 

Whereaway ? Whereaway ? 

LOOKOUT, 

Two points upon the larboard bow, 
Just where the sun is setting now. 

PILOT {to helmsman). 
Port your helm! Steady! — So! 
( To watch. ) 
Let the weather braces go- 
Lower topsail ! 
Clew up mainsail ! 
( To Adm iral ' s pap;e. ) 
Knock at the Admiral's cabin door, 
And tell him that we make the shore. 
Enter Cortez, Alvarado, Sandoval, Avila, Olmedo 
and soldiers. ] 

CORTEZ. 

What make you, pilot, of the land? 

PILOT. 

A level beach of arid sand. 

J 



36 MALINCHE. 

CORTEZ. 

What of the weather? Does it promise fair? 

PILOT. 

The fleecy clouds that softly lie 
Upon the tropic, azure sky, 
Tell that to-morrow will be fair — 
As brightest days of summer are. 

CORTEZ. 

'Tis well. We '11 anchor here, and wait 
The gathering of the scattered fleet, 
And with the morning breeze we '11 land 
In some safe port upon the strand. 

OLMEDO. 

Thanks to San Antonio for the breezes 
Which us have wafted to this sandy shore; 
And may he still protect us on the land, 
Until the Christian cross shall planted be 
Upon the altars of the heathen gods. 

CHORUS. 

Then thanks to the Saint 

For the swift-winged breeze 
That bore us across 

The wide, rolling seas; 
Still be he our guide, 

And still by us stand 
In the perils we '11 meet 

In yon wild, savage land. 
Still be he our guide, 

And still by us stand 
In the perils we '11 meet 

In yon wild, savage land. 

OLMEDO. 

Benditos que seais, hijos mios ! 
{^Exit Olmedo.] 



MA LIN CHE. 37 

SANDOVAL. 

Adios to the song ! adios to the dance ! 

Adios to the wine-cup! the maiden's bright glance! 

The soldier has crossed o'er the wide, rolling main, 

Perhaps ne'er to see Havana again! 

Perhaps ne'er to see Havana again! 

Adios to his loves! adios to his fears! 

Adios to his smiles! adios to his tears! 

The soldier must think of Havana no more. 

Or his sweetheart that dwells on the far Cuban shore! 

Or his sweetheart that dwells on the far Cuban shore! 

CHORUS. 

Adios to the song! adios to the dance! 

Adios to the wine-cup! the maiden's bright glance! 

The soldier has crossed o'er the wide, rolling main, 

Perhaps ne'er to see Havana again! 

The soldier has crossed o'er the wide, rolling main, 

Perhaps ne'er to see Havana again! 



Pass round the cup! 
Fill to the beaker's brim, and let us drink 
A health to fair Havana and old Spain. 
Drink all! Let each man wet his lips! 

[ Wine cups passed among the sailors and soldiers.] 

Here 's to the land of the olive and vine! 

To the land of love and of ruby wine! 

Where the maids are sweet as the flower that grows 

On the banks where the winding Ebro flows! 

So drink to the land of the olive and vine! 

To the land of love and of ruby wine! 

Where the maids are sweet as the flower that grows 

On the banks where the winding Ebro flows! 

CHORUS. 

We '11 drink to the land of the olive and vine! 
To the land of love and of ruby wine! 



38 MA LIN CHE. 

Where the maids are sweet as the flower that grows 
On the banks where the winding Ebro flows! 
Where the maids are sweet as the flower that grows 
On the banks where the winding Ebro flows! 

CORTEZ. 

Perchance, ne'er again 'neath the skies of Spain 
The friends of our youth we will meet again; 
And on the sunny shore of Cuba no more 
May list to the sound of the ocean's roar! 

So drink to the land of the olive and vine! 

To the land of love and of ruby wine! 

Where the maids are sweet as the flower that grows 

On the banks where the winding Ebro flows! 

CHORUS. 

Aye, drink to the land of the olive and vine! 

To the land of love and of ruby wine! 

Where the maids are sweet as the flower that grows 

On the banks where the winding Ebro flows! 

Where the maids are sweet as the flower that grows 

On the banks where the winding Ebro flows! 



Scene II. — The next inortmig. Natives gathered in 
groups on the beach, watching the Spaniards coming ashore 
in their boats. 

FIRST NATIVE. 

Who can the fair-browed strangers be ? 
Come they from out the air, where dwell the gods ? 

SECOND NATIVE. 

In winged boats, from off" the sea they came; 

I saw them yester-eve at set of sun 

Fold their white wings, as if to rest from flight. 

FIRST NATIVE. 

They must be gods, or children of the sun; 
And may have come in wrath to us destroy. 



MA LIN CHE. 39 

\^A gun fired. Disperse savages in dismay. Enter Sando- 
val, Kmylk^ and followers, who plant cross and bamiers 
in the ground, and erect a temporary altar. Natives i7i the 
distance watching proceedings with wondering curiosity. 
Then eiiter Cortez, Alvarado, Olmedo, and soldiers^ 
amid the fi7'ing of cannon and martial music.'] 

OLMEDO 

{handing Cortez a blood-stained batiner bearing the sign 
of the cross). 
Descendant of crusading knights 

Who trod the plains of Palestine, 
Who bear to-day the proudest names 

Upon historic pages seen — 
Take this banner, stained with blood 

Of many a gallant Christian knight 
Who fell upon Sevilla's plains 

And on Asturias' mountain height! 
It oft has led Spain's gallant sons 

Upon the bloody battle-field. 
Where Moslem blade and Moslem spear 

Were shivered on the Spanish shield! 
Then take this banner, stained with blood. 

Lone remnant of crusading wars, 
And see that thou e'er faithful be 

To the most sacred sign it bears! 

CHORUS. 

Viva, Cortez! Hernan Cortez! 

The noblest son of Spanish blood 
That ever won fair lady's smile 

Or in the front of battle stood! 
Viva, Cortez! Viva, Cortez! 

The noblest son of Spanish blood 
That ever won fair lady's smile 

Or in the front of battle stood! 
We give our hearts and hands to thee, 

And swear eternal fealty. 
We give our hearts and hands to thee, 

And swear eternal fealty. 

Viva, Cortez! Viva, Cortez! 



40 MA LIN CHE. 

CORTEZ. 

Sons of proud, imperial Spain! 

Alone upon this shore we stand, 
Far from the fruitful olive groves 

That deck our beauteous native land. 

Before us lies an empire wide. 
Where we may win immortal fame; 

But if -we fail, and cowards prove, 
Behind us lies eternal shame. 

We must succeed, or we are lost ! 
So we must win at any cost! 
Defeated — and no power can save 
From shame eternal, but the grave. 

Then let 's destro}' our sheltering fleet, 
And thus cut off all base retreat! 
Like heroes, then, alone we '11 stand. 
And win an empire on the land! 

What say ye, soldiers ? Shall we give 
Our galleons to the fiery flame, 
And in this distant, unknown land. 
Win honor, wealth, and deathless fame ? 

CHORUS. 

We '11 give to the flame the mast and the sail! 

The mast and the sail 

We '11 give to the demon of flame! 

The mast and the sail, 

The mast and the sail. 

We '11 give to the demon of flame! 

With our galleons gone, we '11 stand all alone- 

We '11 stand all alone. 

Like a rock begirt by the sea! 

We '11 stand all alone. 

We '11 stand all alone, 

Like a rock begirt by the sea! 

Then, give to the flame the mast and the sail! 
The mast and the sail, 



MALIK CHE. 41 

Aye, give to the demon of flame! 

The mast and the sail, 

The mast and the sail, 
Give allXo the demon of flame! 

Scene III. — Another part of the beach. The teiit of 

CORTEZ. 

\_E71ter Malinche.] 
This hour Hernando bade me seek his tent; 
Yet comes he not. 

As the bird on the bough awaits for its mate, 
Malinche, with love for Hernando, will wait! 
For now she is free as the birds that sing. 
And the breeze that fans the bosom of spring! 
Yes, now she is free as the winds of the sea, — 
As the winds of the sea, Malinche is free! 
As the winds of the sea, Malinche is free! 

No more will she shed the tear of the slave. 
Nor long for repose in the sleep of the grave; 
The sunshine has come, the tempest is o'er, — 
Malinche will weep in bondage no more! 
For now she is free as the winds of the sea, — 
As the winds of the sea, Malinche is free! 
As the winds of the sea, Malinche is free! 

As the flower looks up to the bright, beaming sun, 
When the tempest has ceased and the thunder is done,. 
Malinche. with love, Hernando will meet. 
Will kiss his fair brow and sit at his feet! 
And while she is free as the winds of the sea, 
With the love of Hernando, she happy will be! 
With the love of Hernando, she happy will be! 
\^Euter Tazmala.] 
Has Tazmala seen the fair-browed chieftain — 
He who leads the strange and bearded warriors ? 

TAZMALA. 

Aye, Malinche; I saw him as I came 

In converse with his bearded warrior chiefs. 



42 MALINCHE. 

And I trembled, Malinche, like the bird 
When 'tis chased by the fierce mountain vulture! 
Fear'st thou not this fair-browed man, Malinche, 
Whose eye is like the eagle's, and who calls 
The lightning and the thunder to his aid ? 

MALINCHE. 

Does the twining vine fear the rugged oak ? 

The little mountain flower the sheltering rock ? 

The bird the leafy tree that hides its nest ? 

No; nor does Malinche fear the stranger, 

But clings to him as the vine to the oak, 

And loves him as the flower loves the sunbeam, — 

For from hard bondage he has set her free. 

TAZMALA. 

But, Malinche, he is thy people's foe! 
Love for him will anger the avenging gods! 

MALINCHE. 

Cease, Tazmala! 
For not love of country, nor of people. 
Nor anger of avenging gods can quench 
The love I bear Hernando. But he comes! 
I would be alone. 

TAZMALA. 

Beware of the stranger, — 

Oh, Malinche, beware! 
His eye is the eagle's. 

Though his brow it is fair; 
Then beware, Malinche, — 

Of the stranger, beware! 
With the eye of the eagle 

And the brow so fair, — 
Of the fair-browed stranger beware! 

He comes from afar 
O'er the wide, rolling sea; 

He knows not thy people, 
He 's a stranger to thee! 



MALINCHE. 43 

Then beware, Malinche, — 
Of the stranger, beware! 
With the eye of the eagle 
And the brow so fair, — 
Of the fair-browed stranger beware! 
lExit.'\ 

MALINCHE. 

As the bird on the bough awaits for its mate, 
Mahnche, with love for Hernando, will wait; 
For now she is free as the birds that sing. 
And the breeze that fans the bosom of spring! 
Yes, now she is free as the winds of the sea, — 
As the winds of the sea, Malinche is free! 
As the winds of the sea, Malinche is free! 
\^E7iter CoRTEZ.] 

CORTEZ. 

Thou art here, Malinche ? 

MALINCHE. 

Thou didst bid me come, Hernando; 
Malinche ne'er forgets. 

CORTEZ. 

Sit thee here, Malinche, 
And tell me of th}^ childhood's years. 

MALINCHE. 

My father was a prince of royal blood 
And ruled the fair Province of Panilla. 
I was his only child, and me he loved 
As the sunbeam loves the blooming flower! 
Ere I had seen six summers pass, he died 
And left me to a cruel mother's care. — 
She wed my father's bitterest foe; and when 
A son was born to her, that he might take 
The heritage my father left to me, 
My mother sold me to Tabascan traders, 
Where I was held in bondage by a chief 
Until rescued by the generous stranger. 



44 MALINCHE. 

CORTEZ. 

Hast ever loved, Malinche ? 

MALINCHE. 

I loved my father, as the blooming flower 
Loves the bright sun; and in my nightly dreams 
I ever see his smiling face, and hear 
A loving voice that calls, " Malinche! " 

CORTEZ. 

Naught else, Malinche, hast thou ever loved? 

MALINCHE. 

I 've loved the bright sun! I 've loved the bright shower! 
The green, leafy grove, and the fresh-blooming flower! 
I 've loved the bright birds, as sweetly they sing 
While building their nests in the days of the spring! 

I 've loved the bright stars that shine in the night! 
The pale silver moon, with her garments of light! 
I 've loved to list to the soft evening breeze, 
As gently it whispered through the green, leafy trees! 

All these have I loved! for they all seemed to tell 
Of a bright, sunny land where Malinche may dwell; 
Where souls ne'er have sighed, nor hearts e'er have bled, 
Nor tears of the slave have ever been shed. 



But is there not some bright Tabascan youth 
W^ho holds Malinche's heart in bondage ? 

MALINCHE. 

The moon has not thrice put off" her silver robe 
Since, in my dreams, my father stood before me; 
And at his side a fair-browed stranger stood. 
Who gazed upon me with a loving smile. 
My father laid his hand upon my head, 
And mine he to tiie stranger gave, and said: 
" Protect the orphan of an Indian chief 
And he will ever be thy faithful friend, — 
Will by thee in battle stand, and lead thee on 
To victory 'gainst thy foes." 



MALINCHE. 45 

CORTEZ. 

Does Malinche love me ? 

MALINCHE. 

Aye, as the rose-bud loves the mornuig sun! 

So MaHnche loves the fair-browed stranger 

Who, in her dreams, she saw, and whose strong arm 

Set her from Tabascan bondage free. 

As the flower that blooms when the sunshine is bright 
Will fold up its leaves in the shadows of night, 
The day to Malinche as darkness would be 
But for her sweet love, Hernando, for thee! 
The day to Malinche as darkness would be 
But for her sweet love, Hernando, for thee! 
For she lives in her love, Hernando, for thee! 
She but lives in her love, Hernando, for thee! 

Like a storm-beaten flower, in dust she would lie; 
Like a rudely plucked rose, would wither and die; 
More wretched by far than the down-trodden slave 
Who sighs for repose in the sleep of the grave; 
More wretched by far than the down-trodden slave 
Who sighs for repose in the sleep of the grave; 
For she lives in her love, Hernando, for thee! 
She but lives in her love, Hernando, for thee! 

CORTEZ. 

Knovvest thou, Malinche, I am wed to one 
Who dwells beyond the sea ? 

MALINCHE. 

She does not love thee as Malinche loves — 
The swallow does not leave its mate; the flower 
Forever turns its breast toward the sun, 
And when he sinks behind the darkened West 
It folds its leaves in sadness. No; she loves not 
As Malinche loves, or she 'd be with thee now! 

CORTEZ. 

Knowest thou, Malinche, that my gods forbid 
That thou shouldst love me, save as a sister? 



46 MALINCHE. 

MALINCHE. 

Can thy gods forbid the bright sun to shine ? 

The flowers to bloom ? The birds to build their nests 

And rear their young in the sunny days of spring ? 

Can they forbid the streams to seek the sea ? 

Can they forbid the summer clouds to pour 

Their gentle showers upon the thirsty earth ? 

No; nor can they forbid Malinche's eyes 

To look with love upon the fair-browed stranger, 

As looks the flower toward the glorious sun! 

Go tell the sweet rose to close its bright leaves 
When the dewdrops of morning are shining; 

Go tell the soft zephyr to fold its light wings 
When the day in the West is declining; 

Yes, tell the soft zephyr to fold its light wings 
When the day in the West is declining! 

But tell not Malinche to close her young eyes 
To the shrine where her spirit is turning, 

Nor bid her to quench the bright flame of love 
That deep in her bosom is burning; 

No, bid her not quench the bright flame of love 
That deep in her bosom is burning! 

The sun that gilds with light the towering palm, 
Scorns not to shine upon the humblest flower. 
Oh, then, let not Hernando steel his heart 
Against Malinche's love ! 

[Malinche kneels to Cortez.] 

CORTEZ. 

Rise, maiden ! and hear me swear : 
By yon glorious orb of light! 
By the beaming stars of night! 
By my father's honored name! 
By my mother's spotless fame! — 
By a proud hidalgo's word! 
By his ne'er dishonored sword! 
I will ever cherish thee, 
And thy firm protector be! 



MALINCHE. 47 

For, by the living God of Love, 

And all the mighty Powers above, 

Thou art mine — and I am thine — 

By eternal laws divine ! 
\^Exeiint.'\ 
[£"«^'e'r Father Olmedo.] 
Now, by San Pedro, I must learn the truth 
Of this report which I of late have heard . 
Concerning Cortez and the Indian maid! 
If it be true, I '11 put a stop thereto — 
Else much dishonor will on Cortez fall, 
And a great scandal on the Holy Church. 
He comes. I '11 question him. 

\_Re-enter Cortez.] 
Don Hernando, is it true, as 't is said. 
That thou, who bearest the banners of the cross 
Hast made alliance with an Indian maid, 
Regardless of the holy Christian laws 
And the high duties to the Church you owe ? 

CORTEZ. 

Think not, holy father, that I disregard 

The holy Christian laws, or do forget 

That I 'm of the hidalgos' noble blood. 

The Indian maid of whom you speak I love! 

You need not ask me why, — I cannot tell; 

Nor do I seek to learn the reason why. 

The sunbeam seeks the rose, and warms its breast, 

Bids it unfold its blushing leaves in beauty 

And give its fragrance to the morning air. 

Great Nature bids the sunbeam seek the rose, 

And Nature bids me love the Indian maid ! 

OLMEDO. 

Dost thou forget, Hernando, that marriage 
Is a holy rite, and must be sanctioned 
By the Church, or else it is adulterous ? 



48 MALINCHE. 

CORTEZ. 

I little know of theologic creed; 
My life 1 've passed amid the wildest scenes 
Of blood and battle, and little time I 've had 
To learn the lore that 's in the cloister taught. 
But this I know : No marriage unsanctioned 
By great Nature's laws can e'er be sacred made 
By sacramental rite of holy Church. 

OLMEDO. 

Hold ! Hernando, hold ! Peril not thy soul 
By giving speech to such foul heresies ! 

CORTEZ. 

If, Father, it be heresy to love. 

Then is all Nature guilty of the crime, — 

For, by the laws of Nature, all things love: 

Two golden clouds, when day was done. 
Hung softly o'er the setting sun, 
Their rosy fringes kissed — and then 
07ie cloud was seen where two had been! 

Two crystal drops, at dawn of day. 
Upon a rose's bosom lay; 
A wooing breeze disturbed their rest — 
And then they mingled on its breast! 

A whispering zephyr, wandering round, 
Awoke two chords of dulcet sound; 
The mingling tones upon the strings 
Were sweet as when an angel sings! 

Two beings meet, as fresh and bright 
As rosebuds bathed in morning light; 
Their bosoms throb — and on their lips 
Love then the sweetest nectar sips! 

And this is mar7'iage — this alone 
As such to Love Divine is known; 
Aught else, whate'er may be the rite, 
Is foulest crime in Nature's sight! 



MALINCHE. 49 

So, Father, cease your counsels vain; for 

Had I Al Sirat's bridge to cross. 
With Acheron's fiery gulf below, 

Still would I love the Indian maid 
And take the chance of endless woe. 

\_Exit CORTEZ.] 
OLMEDO. 

{crossing himself, and raising his hands in holy horror). 
Santa Maria! what wicked madness! 
As Don Hernando will not list to me, 
I 'U find the Indian maid, Malinche, 
And try to wake within her breast desire 
To seek again her native home and tribe. 
If she give not to me a list'ning ear. 
Woe to Hernando's soul! Hither she comes. 

\_Re-enler Malinche. ] 
Fair Indian maiden, wouldst thou return 
To thy home, thy people, and thy native land ? 

MALINCHE. 

I have no home, but with the one I love, — 
The generous stranger who from bondage saved 
The orphan maid, — the brave Hernando! 

OLMEDO. 

But, maiden, thy love for him is mortal sin; 
'Twill plunge the souls of both in endless ruin! 

MALINCHE. 

I know not what you mean by mortal sin; 
And as for endless ruin, perhaps you mean 
Such anguish as the Indian maiden felt 
In the cruel bondage of Tabasco? 
If this be so, I tell thee, holy man. 
All Ihis would I endure, were 't ten times more, 
That I might look upon Hernando's face, 
Rather than without him to reign a queen 
In the bright mansions of the sun! 



50 MALINCHE. 

I '11 be with him on land and sea, 
Where'er on earth his pourse may be! 
In peaceful hall, on battle-field, 
I '11 be his ever faithful shield! 
I '11 breathe for him my latest breath, 
And in the solemn hour of death 
My only wish shall be to rest 
My dying head upon his breast! 

\_Re-enter Cortez siiddefily.'] 

CORTEZ. 

Now, by the rosy God of Love, 
And all the mighty powers above — 
By all the past that I hold dear, 
Mahnche, now I wed thee here! 
I wed thee by the laws of love 
That rule the radiant realms above; 
li this be sin, I'll bear the blame 
In dungeon dark and burning flame; 
But here on earth there is for me 
No paradise, except with thee! 



1 



ACT III. 

Scene I. — Spanish camp at ni^ht before the City of Tias- 
cala. Soldiers occupied in mending armor and polishing 
arms preparatory to battle. 

FIRST SOLDIER. 

This helmet old on many a field 
From Moorish lance has been the shield; 
And yet, though old and battered now. 
Will still protect a soldier's brow. 

SECOND SOLDIER. 

And this old sword, though hacked and worn. 
Which a brave soldier's thigh has borne, 
May start again the crimson flood 
And quench its thirst in Aztec blood. 



II 



MA LIN CHE. 51 

THIRD SOLDIER. 

Then we '11 polish our arms 

And prepare for alarms, 
And await for the sound of the drum; 

Our hearts will be light 

As our weapons are bright, 
When the day of battle has come! 

CHORUS. 

Our hearts will be light 

As our weapons are bright, 
When the day of battle has come; 

Our hearts will be light 

As our weapons are bright. 
When the day of battle has come! 

Then we '11 polish our arms 

And prepare for alarms, 
And await for the sound of the drum ; 

We will polish our arms 

And prepare for alarms, 
And await for the sound of the drum! 
\_Exeunt.'\ 
\_Enter Cortez and Malinche.] 

CORTEZ. 

Canst thou, Malinche, speak the Tlascalan tongue? 

MALINCHE. 

Aye, Hernando, as I speak Panillian. 

CORTEZ. 

Fear'st thou to bear a message to the chief 
Who rules Tlascala ? 

MALINCHE. 

Nought fear I to do that Hernando wishes. 

CORTEZ. 

Then shalt thou to Tlascala's haughty chief 

This message bear: 

" Hernando Cortez, from the King of Spain 



52 MA LIN CHE. 

An envoy is to the great Montezuma, 
The proud monarch of the Aztec Empire. 
Through Tlascala much he desires to pass, 
If he can, in peace; if not — pass he must!" 
The brave Alonzo will thy escort be. 

MALINCHE. 

I go, Hernando, to obey thy will. 

CORTEZ. 

Fear'st thou not to go, Malinche ? 

MALINCHE. 

I fear not, Hernando, 

I fear not to go, 

Though the storm-cloud in wrath 

Should beat on my path; 

Though the fierce tempest blow, 

I fear not to go; 

I fear not, Hernando, 

I fear not to go! 

For the love of Hernando 
With me I will bear. 
And nought will I care 
For the storm on my path. 
Nor Tlascala's fierce wrath; 
For the love of Hernando 
With me I will bear. 
With me I will bear! 

So I fear not, Hernando, 

I fear not to go. 

Though the storm-cloud in wrath 

Should beat on my path; 

Though the fierce tempest blow, 

I fear not to go; 

For the love of Hernando 

With me I will bear! 

lExit:\ 



MALINCHE. 53 

CORTEZ, 

Wild maid of the tropics ! no warrior of Spain 

Was e'er in battle more daring than thou; 
And ne'er have I known 'mong the maids of Castile 

A love so true as lights thy young brow; 
And ne'er have I known 'mong the maids of Castile 

A love so true as lights thy young brow! 

A love so true as lights thy young brow! 

As the flower to the sun, when the daybeam is bright, 

Is thy wild love, MaHnche, for me; 
As the sun to the flower, when the daybeam is bright, 

My love for thee forever shall be! 
As the sun to the flower, when the daybeam is bright, 

My love for thee forever shall be! 

My love for thee forever shall be! 

For ne'er have I known 'mong the maids of Castile 

A love so true as lights thy young brow; 
And, in bright armor laced, no warrior of Spain 

Was e'er in battle more daring than thou. 
As the sun to the flower, when the daybeam is bright, 

My love for thee forever shall be! 

My love for thee forever shall be! 
lExit.l 



Scene II. — On the Heights of Tlascala. Tlascalan 
Chief and warriors in council. 

CHIEF. 

What of the warriors from the rising sun? 

WARRIOR. 

I saw them by the early Hght; 
Their arms did flash like lightning in the sun. 

CHIEF. 

Let them come ! Let them come ! 
Whoever they be — 



54 MALINCHE. 

From the realms of the sun, 

Or the foam of the sea; 
Let them come! Let them come 

With weapons so bright, 
That flash in the sunbeams 

Like arrows of light! 
We '11 meet them in battle 

In a tempest of wrath, 
When they '11 scatter like leaves 

In the whirlwind's path. 

CHORUS. 

We '11 meet them in battle 

In a tempest of wrath, 
When they '11 scatter like leaves 

In the whirlwind's path. 
Let them come ! Let them come ! 

Whoever they be — 
From the realms of the sun, 

Or the foam of the sea; 
Let them come! Let them come 

With weapons so bright, 
That flash in the sunbeams 

Like arrows of light! 
We '11 meet them in battle 

In a tempest of wrath, 
When they '11 scatter like leaves 

In the whirlwind's path. 
Let them come ! Let them come! 

Whoever they be — 
From the realms of the sun, 

Or the foam of the sea; 
Let them come! Let them come! 
{^Enter Malinche hurriedly. "l 

MALINCHE. 

Who is Tlascala's chief? 

CHIEF. 

What wouldst thou, maiden, with Tlascala's chief? 



MALINCHE. 55 

MALINCHE. 

I come from those who dwell beyond the sea — 
Hernando Cortez, from the King of Spain, 
Desires a peaceful passage through Tlascala 
To the city of the Aztec kings. 

He does not come as arm^d foe, — 
But through Tlascala he must go; 
Shall he then come with peaceful word, 
Or must he come with fire and sword ? 

CHIEF. 

If the accursed stranger come, 
He '11 hear Tlascala's battle-drum! 
Go tell him this, and tell him, too, 
What I, Tlascala's chief, will do: 
I '11 give his heart to feed the fire 
Lit by Huitzelpol's burning ire, 
That ever beams by day and night 
Upon Titcala's mountain height! 
Go tell him this, false-hearted slave, — 
False to the land thy birth that gave; 
And tell him that Tlascala's lord 
Swears by his gods to keep his word. 

MALINCHE. 

Proud son of Tlascala! Proud son of Tlascala! 

The eagle is waiting the day 
When the dark, bloody field of battle shall give 

The flesh of the slaughtered for prey, 

The flesh of the slaughtered for prey! 
When the dark, bloody field of battle shall give 

The flesh of the slaughtered for prey! 

The sons of Tlascala! The sons of Tlascala! 

They '11 fall on mountain and plain; 
The wild hungry wolf shall gorge on the flesh 

And lap the warm blood of the slain. 

And lap the warm blood of the slain! 
The wild hungry wolf shall gorge on the flesh 

And lap the warm blood of the slain! 
lExit.l 



56 MALINCHE. 



Let them come! Let them come! 

Whoever they be — 
From the realms of the sun, 

Or the foam of the sea; 
Let them come! Let them come 

With weapons so bright, 
That flash in the sunbeams 

Like arrows of hght! 
We '11 meet them in battle 

In a tempest of wrath, 
When they '11 scatter like leaves 

In the whirlwind's path. 
Let them come! Let them come! 
\^Exeimt.'\ 



Scene III. — The Spanish Camp. {Same as Scene I.) 
l^Enter Cortez, Alvarado, and Sandoval.] 

CORTEZ. 

If the Tlascalan chief permits our passage 
Through his mountain land, our way is easy 
To the royal court of Montezuma. 

alvarado. 
'T is said he is a fierce and warlike chief, 
And likely 't is our passage will dispute. 

SANDOVAL. 

E'en though they should, 
They '11 be as chaff before our mailed warriors. 

CORTEZ. 

I now fear more than e'er I feared before; 
Malinche comes not yet. I fear for her. 

SANDOVAL. 

Alonzo is her escort, — 
And a braver .Spaniard ne'er drew sword. 



MA LIN CHE. 57 

ALVA R ADO. 

Don Hernando, here they come! 
MaHnche looks all wild and pale. 

\_Enter Avila and Malinche.] 

CORTEZ. 

What message brings Malinche? 

MALINCHE. 

That Spanish hearts will feed the fire 
Lit by Huitzelpol's burning ire, 
That ever beams by day and night 
Upon Titcala's mountain height! 

CORTEZ. 

To arms! To arms, brave Spanish knights! 
We '11 meet Tlascala on the heights, 
And like a mountain storm we '11 sweep 
O'er hill, and plain, and valley deep! 
To arms! To arms! Our war-cry be, 
Saint James, the Cross, and Victory! 
\^Enier soldiers hurriedly.'] 

ALL. 

To arms! To arms! Our war-cry be. 
Saint James, the Cross, and Victory! 

CHORUS. 

We '11 strike like the lightning 

From the dark, mountain cloud! 
When the tempest is raging 

And the thunder is loud; 
We '11 strike like the lightning! 
We '11 strike like the lightning 

From the dark, mountain cloud! 
When the tempest is raging 

And the thunder is loud; 
We '11 strike like the lightning! 
We '11 strike like the lightning 

From the dark, mountain cloud, 



58 MALINCHE. 

When the tempest is raging 
And the thunder is loud! 

MALINCHE. 

When the tide of the battle swells, 
And the brazen trumpet tells 
That the ghastly strife is done. 
And Hernando's arms have won, 
Spare the conquered, — spare the weak! 
Let not the sword its vengeance wreak 
Upon the hapless flying ones, — 
Spare Tlascala's conquered sons! 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. — After battle. Tlascala's conquered Chief 
before Cortez. 

CHIEF. 

Fair-browed son of a distant land, 

Thrice have we met in deadly strife; 
In battle thrice Tlascala's hand 

Has vainly sought to take thy life. 
But this is past— the battle 's o'er — 

Tlascala now thy friend would be; 
His arm shall raise the spear no more 

Against the Power that shelters thee! 
His arm shall raise the spear no more 

Against the Power that shelters thee! 

CORTEZ. 

'Tis well, brave prince; fast friends we'll be 
While mountain streams shall seek the sea; 
In peace and battle we will stand 
With heart to heart and hand to hand! 
In peace and battle we will stand 
With heart to heart and hand to hand! 



MALINCHE. 59 

CHORUS OF SPANIARDS. 

All welcome to the gallant chief 

Who rules Tlascala's mountain land! 
All welcome to the fearless chief 

And to his gallant warrior band! 
All welcome to the fearless chief 

And to his gallant warrior band! 
In peace and battle we will stand 

With heart to heart and hand to hand! 
In peace and battle we will stand 

With heart to heart and hand to hand! 



Scene II. — Palace of Montezuma. Montezuma, Cuit- 
LAHUA, warHors a7id priests in coimcil. 

MONTEZUMA. 

Ye who know the dread secrets of the gods, 

Speak! and tell me of the misty future. 

What to Montezuma bodes the coming 

Of these fierce strangers, who hold the lightning 

In their grasp, and speak in tones of thunder? 

Unfold to me the future, and tell me. 

If ye can, the dread secrets of the gods! 

HIGH PRIEST, 

We have looked to the North, 
We have looked to the South, 
While the blood of the victim was flowing! 
We have looked to the East, 
We have looked to the West, 
While the flame on the altar was glowing! 
And dark were the clouds that rolled in the North, 
And black was the gloom that hung in the South, 

While the flame on the mountain was bright'ning! 
The red star of battle beamed bright in the East, 
The pale star of peace had sunk in the West, 
And fierce was the flash of the lightning! 



6o MALINCHE. 

CHORUS OF PRIESTS. 

We have looked to the North, 
We have looked to the South, 
While the blood of the victim was flowing! 
We have looked to the East, 
We have looked to the West, 
While the flame on the altar was glowing! 
And dark were the clouds that rolled in the North, 
And black was the gloom that hung in the South, 

While the flame on the mountain was bright'ning! 
The red star of battle beamed bright in the East, 
The pale star of peace had sunk in the West, 
And fierce was the flash of the lightning! 
And fierce was the flash of the lightning! 
The red star of battle beamed bright in the East, 
The pale star of peace had sunk in the West, 
And fierce was the flash of the lightning! 

MONTEZUMA. 

But tell me what these signs forbode! Tell they 
Of victory to the Aztec arms, or that 
The great gods are angry, and look in wrath 
Upon the sons of Aztlan? 

CUITLAHUA. 

Of victory! by the fierce god of battles! 
Of victory to the glorious Aztec arms! 

Bid light the teocali 

And sound the loud drum! 
Bid the warriors of Aztlan 

To the red battle come! 

Aye, let them come and meet the foe 
With shining spear and bended bow! 
And let them on the battle-field 
Do honor to the Aztec shield! 
And let them meet the storm of death. 
As meets the rock the tempest's breath; 
And let them like a mountain stand 
While battling for tlieir native land! 



MALINCHE. 6i 

CHORUS OF WARRIORS. 

Then light the teocali 

And sound the loud drum! 
Bid the warriors of Aztlan 
To the red battle come! 
Like heroes to conquer, or bravely to die, 
And, blessed by the gods, on the battle-field lie. 
Then light the teocali 

And sound the loud drum! 
Bid the warriors of Aztlan 
To the red battle come! 
Like heroes to conquer, or bravely to die, 
And, blessed by the gods, on the battle-field lie. 
Like heroes to conquer, or bravely to die. 
And, blessed by the gods, on the battle-field lie. 

MONTEZUMA. 

'Tis vain; for deep in my spirit I feel 

That the glory of Aztlan is o'er; 
The fire that now burns on her altars so bright. 
Will light up her temples no more! 
No more! no more! no more! 
The fire that now burns on her altars so bright, 
Will light up her temples no more! 

No more! no more! no more! 
Will light up her temples no more! 
\_Enter Aztec maidens zvith flozuers, followed by Cortez 
and his principal officers, to the music of Grand Spanish 
March.'] 

chorus of maidens. 
Welcome to Aztlan, fair son of the sea! 
The maidens of Aztlan give welcome to thee! 
With the song that they sing, they welcome thee now, 
As this crown of bright flowers they place on thy brow. 
Welcome to Aztlan, fair son of the sea! 
The maidens of Aztlan give welcome to thee! 
With the song that they sing, they welcome thee now, 
As this crown of bright flowers they place on thy brow. 
[ They croivn Cortez luilh flozvers.l 



62 MALINCHE. 

MONTEZUMA. 

Illustrious Stranger! I behold in thee 

A descendant of the great Quetzalcol, 

The fair-browed ruler of the aerial realms 

And founder of the mighty Aztec Empire. 

To thee I bow, and tender such submission 

As Montezuma owes to him who rules 

The empire of the air; holds the fierce lightnings 

In his grasp, and speaks in tones of thunder. 

MAIDENS. 

Welcome to Aztlan, fair son of the sea! 

The maidens of Aztlan give welcome to thee! 

CORTEZ. 

Hernando Cortez, for the mighty lord 
Who rules the Empire of the Eastern seas. 
Accepts the homage of the Aztec king, 
The mighty lord of Aztlan's mountain land, 
And commands that on the sacrificial stone 
No more shall human blood by priest be shed. 
Or offering made upon the teocali; 
But that the Christian cross shall stand where now 
The Aztec altars reek with human gore. 

CHORUS OF SPANIARDS. 

Viva, Cortez! Viva, Cortez! 

By the crown that decks thy brow 
We hail thee, gallant, glorious chief, 

Vice-king, and lord of Aztlan now! 
We hail thee, gallant, glorious chief. 

Vice-king, and lord of Aztlan now! 

Viva, Cortez! Viva, Cortez! 
By the crown that decks thy brow 
We hail thee, gallant, glorious chief. 
Vice-king, and lord of Aztlan now! 

[Cortez and officers retire from the palace, to the mtisic 
of Grand March.'\ 



MALINCHE. 63 

CUITLAHUA. 

Bid light the teocali 

And sound the loud drum! 
Bid the warriors of Aztlan 

To the red battle come! 

CHORUS OF WARRIORS. 

Aye, light the teocali 

And sound the loud drum! 
Bid the warriors of Aztlan 

To the red battle come! 
Bid the warriors of Aztlan 

To the red battle come! 

MONTEZUMA. 

No more; for deep in my spirit I feel 
That the glory of Aztlan is o'er; 
The fire that now burns on her altars so bright, 
Will light up her temples no more. 

No more! no more! no more! 
Will light up her temples no more. 

No more! no more! no more! 
Will light up her temples no more! 
{^Exit Montezuma.] 

MAIDENS. 

No more! no more! no more! 

Will light up the temples no more. 

The fire that now burns on her altars so bright. 

Will light up her temples no more. 

No more! no more! no more! 

\_Exeunt.'\ 



64 MALINCHE. 

Scene III. — Aztec temple of the God of War. Sacrifi- 
cial stone altar, smoking with human sacrifice and stained 
with blood. Priests clothed in black robes, with naked arms 
and garme7its stained with blood. Bloody image of the 
War God. Sacrificial implements, and serpent-skifi drum. 

HIGH PRIEST. 

Great god of battles, stern and dread, 
The mountains quake beneath thy tread! 
Thy fiery breath 
Is the blast of death, 
Thy glance is the lightning's glare! 
The storm, and the cloud 
And the thunder loud 
Thy ministers of vengeance are. 
Oh, tread us not down in thy angry path! 
Accept this victim to thy vengeful wrath! 
{To the attendant priests.) 
Bind now the victim 

To the sacred stone! 
Sound the serpent drum 
To drown his dying groan! 
{^Priests drag a naked bound victim to the sacrificial stone, 
on which they place him on his back. Priests in the mean- 
while beating the war drum and tnaking doleful music on 
savage ifistruments . High Priest with sacrificial knife 
raised to open the breast of the victim."] 

\^Enter Cortez and. Spanish soldiers.'] 

CORTEZ. 

Hold, murderers! Hold your work of death! 

Red-handed demons, hold! \ 

More horrid this than sacrifice 

To Moloch's shrine of old. 
( To the soldiers. ) 
Unbind the victim— quench the fires 

That on the altar glow, 
And from its ghastly, blood-stained throne 

That horrid image throw! 



MALINCHE. 



65 



ISoldiers throw doivn image of War God, scatter the sa- 
cred fire and demolish altar. Priests resist with their 
sacrificial lueapons, but are soon overcome by the soldiers 
and fly from the temple, some being slain. Enter Father 
Olmedo with a ban7ier bearing the sign of the cross, which 
he plants on the altar of the demolished War God.] 

OLMEDO. 

Emblem of the Christian faith! 

Emblem of the Life Divine, 
And of the Sacred Name around 

Which eternal glories shine! 
We hail in thee the glorious day 
That drives the pagan gloom away! 
The place where Moloch's altars stood, 
No more shall flow with human blood. 

CHORUS OF SOLDIERS. 

We hail in thee the glorious day 

That drives the pagan gloom away! 

The place where Moloch's altars stood, 

No more shall flow with human blood. 

Emblem of the Christian faith! 
Emblem of the Life Divine, 

And of the Sacred Name around 
Which eternal glories shine! 

We hail in thee the glorious day 

That drives the pagan gloom away! 

We hail in thee the glorious day 

That drives the pagan gloom away! 
Confused sound of the beating of drums and yelling of 
enraged populace. Spafiiards assailed by great numbers 
of Aztecs. They fight their way out of the temple, a7id 
gain the causezuay.] 



66 MALINCHE. 

Scene IV. — '^ Noche Triste.'' The etid of the causeway. 
Stage dimly lighted. Misty moo ?i light. Distant clashing 
of arms^ beatifig of drums, shouts and groa^is, and the wild 
sound of desperate battle. 

[^«/^r CoRTEZ, AviLA, Sandoval, and a few soldiers.'] 



Comrades, we 've gained at last the solid ground; 
But alas, our gallant friends and soldiers brave! 
Many, I fear, have fallen; or been captive ta'en 
To perish on the accursed altars. 
Where is Alvarado ? Where Malinche ? 
[Enter Malinche wildly, and bleeding from a slight wound 
on the forehead.] 

MALINCHE. 

To the rescue, gallant knights! to the rescue! 
All alone stands the brave Alvarado 
With broken sword and shivered spear, and soon 
Will fall, if none to his speedy rescue come! 

CORTEZ. 

On with me, brave soldiers, to the rescue! 
On, comrades! on to the desperate charge! 
{^Exeunt.] 



Scene V. — On the causeway. Alvarado surrounded 
by a yelling host, against whom he is making a desperate 
defence. 

[^Enter Cortez, Avila, Sandoval, and the remnant of the 
army.] 

CORTEZ. 

Now let the bloody demons feel 
The deadly thrust of Spanish steel! 
Strike, comrades! — strike! Strike for your lives! 
And let the bloody demons feel 
The deadly thrust of Spanish steel! 



MALINCHE. 67 

[ The Aztecs give way before the desperate charge of the 
Spa?iiards ; many are stain, and many are forced into the 
take.'] 

CORTEZ. 

To the front, comrades! Let 's haste 
And gain the land. Give Alvarado aid; 
He is wounded, and faints from loss of blood. 
Once on the solid ground, we '11 make a stand. 
\^Exeiint Spaniards fighting. ] 



Scene VI. — The end of the causeway. {Same as Scene IV. ) 

\^E?iter Spafdards slowly, bearing Alvarado bleeding. 
CoRTEZ follows.'] 

CORTEZ {seating himself U7ider a tree). 

Oh, where are they now? \^Aside.] 

Oh, where are they now. 
The soldiers who with me have stood. 

When the wild storm broke 

In flame and in smoke 
On the fields of carnage and blood? 

Their battles are done. 

Their last vict'ry won, — 
They sleep with the foes they have slain; 

They will hear no more 

The cannon's loud roar. 
Nor meet the red battle again! 

But away with this sad and melting mood! 

For no tear must dim the eye of Cortez 

Until he has regained what he has lost. 

And has avenged the death of his brave comrades. 

( To his soldiers. ) 
My brave companions of a hundred fights, 
Man ne'er was great but in the hour of danger; 
And suffering needful is to make him great. 
To pluck the rose is for the maiden's hand — 



68 BIALINCHE. 

To beard the lion needs the warrior's strength! 
We 've met reverses, but still are not defeated — 
To-morrow, when the rosy dawn first gilds 
The purpling East, like the dread bolt that strikes 
The solid earth, we'll storm the sleeping city 
And regain what we have lost. What say ye. 
Heroes of a hundred battles ? 

CHORUS. 

In life, and in death. 

With blood, and with breath, 

By thee will we stand 

With heart, and with hand — 

Till the banners of Spain 

All proudly shall wave, 
Or the wild wolf shall howl 

O'er the warrior's grave! 
Till the banners of Spain 

All proudly shall wave. 
Or the wild wolf shall howl 

O'er the warrior's grave! 



ACT V. 

Scene I. — Montezuma's Palace. {Same as Act IV, 
See fie II.) ^ 

[Enter Cortez, Alvarado, Sandoval, and Avila.] 



Again we stand in Montezuma's palace! 
Again our banners wave upon the walls! 
Again the Holy Christian Cross is planted 
Upon the teocali, which of late 
Was stained with blood of human sacrifice. 
'Tis meet that we to heaven return our thanks 

* Cortez, after having recruited his shattered army, returned with his 
Tlascalan allies and carried the City of Mexico by storm. And thus ended 
the Conquest of Mexico.— H. 



MALINCHE. 69 

For the great victory we so bravely won. 
To-morrow, then, we '11 celebrate High Mass, 
And holy incense burn in this dark temple. 
Go thou, Gonzalo; and you too, Avila, 
And tell the holy father see to it, 
Don Pedro, stay! I would a word with thee. 
{^Exeimt Sandoval and hN\\.K.'\ 

ALVARADO. 

What news, Hernando, from the Court of Spain 
Brings the courier who last night arrived ? 

CORTEZ. 

Orders that I at once myself present 

Before the Royal Charles to make report; 

Leaving Don Pedro de Alvarado 

In vice-regal charge on my departure. 

The ship "San Carlos, " just arrived from Spain 

Awaits me in the port of Vera Cruz. 

ALVARADO. 

What orders wouldst thou give me, Don Hernando ? 

CORTEZ. 

Of that, to-morrow, Don Pedro; 
I 'm weary now, and fain would have repose. 
Where is Malinche ? Hast thou not seen her? 

ALVARADO. 

I saw her less an hour ago 
Gazing upon the sun with moistened eyes. 
I called her twice, but yet she heeded not: 
One word alone she spoke, and that was ''Father l'' 

CORTEZ. 

'T is a sad day for me, indeed; 
I, who yesterday like a mountain stood. 
Rooted with stern purpose — now like a leaf 
Tremble with emotion. Leave me alone — 
Grief loves the solitude. 

\^Exit Alvarado.] 



70 MA LIN CHE. 

Malinche in tears! Of what bodes this grief? 
Oh, Cortez! Cortez! thy lot is desolate! 
An Empire thou hast won for Charles of Spain, 
And history will, perchance, give thee a name — 
But loud-voiced Fame, will that thee compensate 
If thou dost lose the love of this wild maid ? 
{^Enter Malinche, gazing tozvards the sun.'\ 
Malinche! 

MALINCHE. 

Hernando! 

CORTEZ. 

Knowest thou, Malinche, that I am ordered 
To at once appear before the King of Spain, 
And that the ship awaits to bear me hence ? 

MALINCHE. 

Aye, Hernando, these news I 've heard. 

CORTEZ. 

Art ready to accompany me, Malinche ? 

MALINCHE. 

I cannot go, Hernando; Malinche 
Cannot leave the mountain land of Aztlan! 

CORTEZ. 

I '11 take thee to the Royal Court of Spain; 
The Indian maiden shall a princess be — 
Shall wear the richest robes, and jewels bright! 

MALINCHE. 

Hernando, the flower that in the forest blooms, 
Withers when in the royal gardens placed — 
Malinche would not see Hernando blush 
For the wild flower placed beside the garden rose. 
No, Hernando; Malinche cannot go. 

CORTEZ. 

What shall Hernando do, and what Malinche ? 



MA LIN CHE. 

MALINCHE. 

Hernando shall obey his sovereign's will. 

CORTEZ. 

And Malinche ? 

MALINCHE. 

In my dreams last night, I saw my father: 
With smiling face he pointed far away 
To a beauteous, sunny land of flowers. 
And said: 

" I wait for Malinche 

Where the bright golden beam 
Ever sheds its soft light 

On the clear, silver stream. 
I wait for Malinche — 

Her toils are all done! 
I wait for Malinche 

In the realms of the sun! 
I wait for Malinche 

In the realms of the sun! " 

He bade me seek the shady cypress groves 
Where dwell the vestal virgins, and there await 
His summons to the mansions of the sun. 
To-morrow Don Hernando leaves for Spain, 
And Malinche for Tezcuco's shady groves. 
To wait the summons to the flowery land 
And the bright mansions of the sun. 

Where, Hernando, we will meet 
When the storms of life are o'er; 

Where the tear that sorrow sheds 
Will dim Malinche's eyes no more; 

Where the tear that sorrow sheds 
Will dim Malinche's eyes no more. 

CORTEZ. 

It cannot be, Malinche, no; 

Oh, no, it cannot be! 
For surely thou wilt go with me 

Across the rolling sea! 



71 



72 MALINCHE. 

Across the rolling sea — 
Across the rolling sea — 
Yes, surely thou wilt go with me 
Across the rolling sea! 

With me thou hast unflinching stood 

Amid the battle's strife, 
And dearer to Hernando art 

Than is his stormy life! 

Than is his stormy life — 

Than is his stormy life — 
Yes, dearer to Hernando art 

Than is his stormy life! 

Nay, do not weep, Malinche dear! 

Come now, my love, and rest 
That little weary head of thine 

Upon Hernando's breast! 

Upon Hernando's breast — 

Upon Hernando's breast — 
Yes, lay that weary head of thine 

Upon Hernando's breast! 

MALINCHE. 

Oh, if the gods were willing now, 

How gladly I would lay 
My weary head upon thy breast, 

And breathe my life away! 

And breathe my life away — 

And breathe my life away — 
Yes, gladly there would lay my head 

And breathe my life away! 

[The Spirit of Malinche's Father appears for a mome7it 
in the distance. '\ 

But, I behold my father's face! 

He points a threat'ning hand. 
And sternly bids me here to stay 

In Aztlan's mountain land! 

In Aztlan's mountain land — 

In Aztlan's mountain land — 



MALINCHE. 73 

Yes, sternly bids me here to stay 
In Aztlan's mountain land! 

So, fare thee well, Hernando love! 

I 'd gladly go with thee, 
And be with thee where' er thou art 
Beyond the rolling sea! 
Beyond the rolling sea — 
Beyond the rolling sea — 
And be with thee where'er thou art 
Beyond the rolling sea! 
[The Spirit of Malinche's Father appears again, and 
beckons her away.'] 
Farewell, Hernando love, farewell! 
Farewell! — farewell! — farewell! 

cortez. 
One kiss, Malinche, and farewell! 
Farewell! — farewell! — farewell! 
[Malinche and Cortez separate and retire from the stage 
in different directions to the sound of soft, minor music. ] 



Scene II. — Tezcuco' s Groves. '^IkiA^^viK, supported by 
Tazmala, rectifiing 07i a couch of flowers. Enter virgins 
dressed in costumes representing the sun. 

malinche {to Tazmala). 
Why weep'st thou for Malinche now ? 

Why weepest thou for me ? 
For like a mountain bird will I 

From sorrow soon be free! 

From sorrow soon be free — 

From sorrow soon be free — 
For like a mountain bird will I 

From sorrow soon be free! 

tazmala. 
The mountain bird in sorrow sings. 
When it is left alone 



74 MALINCHE. 

Upon the leafy bough, from where 
Its loving mate has flown! 
Its loving mate has flown — 
Its loving mate has flown — 

Upon the leafy bough, from where 
Its loving mate has flown! 

So I must weep for thee, Malinche; 

Yes, I must weep for thee! 
When thou art gone, Malinche, then 

Oh, who will care for me ? 

Oh, who will care for me — 

Oh, who will care for me — 
When thou art gone, Malinche, then 

Oh, who will care for me ? 

A lone and friendless bird I '11 be 

On a deserted tree; 
A lone and friendless bird I '11 be 

On a deserted tree! 

On a deserted tree — 

On a deserted tree — 
A lone and friendless bird I '11 be 

On a deserted tree! 

CHORUS OF VIRGINS. 

And the daughters of Aztlan will weep. 

And tears of sorrow will shed 

O'er the spot where Malinche may sleep 

When her bright spirit has fled! 

When her bright spirit has fled 

To the far-off" realms of the sun! 

When her bright spirit has fled 

To the far-off" realms of the sun! 

MALINCHE. 

Farewell, ye virgins of Aztlan! 

Fair maids of Chulula, farewell! 
The days of Malinche have passed; 

She goes with her fathers to dwell! 
The days of Malinche have passed; 

She goes with her fathers to dwell! 



MALINCHE. 

CHORUS. 

The days of Malinche have passed, 
She goes with her fathers to dwell! 

MALINCHE. 

The days of Malinche have passed; 

The toils of her life are all done; 
She goes with her fathers to dwell 

In the bright, golden realms of the sun! 
She goes with her fathers to dwell 

In the bright, golden realms of the sun! 

CHORUS. 

She goes with her fathers to dwell 

In the bright, golden realms of the sun! 

MALINCHE. 

Where the flowers of love ever bloom, 
And the sunbeam ever is bright! 

Where the shadows of evening ne'er fall. 
Nor the cold, chilling dews of the night! 

Where the shadows of evening ne'er fall. 
Nor the cold, chilling dews of the night! 

CHORUS. 

Where the shadows of evening ne'er fall. 
Nor the cold, chilling dews of the night! 

MALINCHE. 

Where the maidens are sweet as the rose. 
When fresh with the dewdrops of morn! 

And bright as the brow of the East, 

When the beams of the morning are born! 

And bright as the brow of the East, 
When the beams of the morning are born! 

CHORUS. 

And bright as the brow of the East, 

When the beams of the morning are born! 



75 



76 MALINCHE. 

MALINCHE. 

Then farewell, fair virgins! — farewell! 

When the toils of your lives are all done, 
We will meet in the gardens of love, 

In the bright, golden realms of the sun! 
We will meet in the gardens of love. 

In the bright, golden realms of the sun! 

CHORUS. 

We will meet in the gardens of love. 
In the bright, golden realms of the sun! 

MALINCHE. 

We will meet — we will meet, fair virgins, again, 
In the bright, golden realms of the sun! 

We will meet — we will meet, fair virgins, again. 
In the bright, golden realms of the sun! 

We will meet — we will meet, fair virgins, again. 
In the bright, golden realms of the sun! \^Dies.'\ 

[Malinche slowly ascends from the stage amid clouds of 
aro7natic incense and strains of solemn music. '\ 

chorus. 
We will meet thee, Malinche, again, 

When the toils of our lives are all done — 
We will meet thee, Malinche, again. 

In the bright, golden realms of the sun! 
We will meet thee, Malinche, again, 

In the bright, golden realms of the sun! 

\^Allfall upon their knees and bozv their heads to the ground. 
Clouds separate, exposing to view the spirits ^Malinche 
and her father. '\ 

malinche. 
The days of Malinche have passed; 

The toils of the earth are all done; 
She comes to her father, to dwell 

In the bright, golden realms of the sun! 
She comes to her father, to dwell 

In the bright, golden realms of the sun! 



MA L INCH E. 77 

SPIRIT OF THE FATHER. 

Where the flowers of love ever bloom, 

And the sunbeam ever is bright! 
Where the shadows of evening ne'er fall, 

Nor the cold, chilling dews of the night! 
W^here the shadows of evening ne'er fall, 

Nor the cold, chilling dews of the night! 

[ Curtain. ] 
City of Mexico, 1881. 



THE TREE OF "LA NOCHE TRISTE. 



The sun it shone bright 

From the clear, azure skies, 
On the high mountain peak 

Where the white snow Hes; 
My brow it was fanned 

By the soft summer breeze. 
As whispering it came 

From the bright, tropic seas. 

As nmsing I sat 

'Neath the old, gnarled tree. 
Wild scenes of the past 

Were pictured to me : 
The storm, and the gloom 

Of the dark, dismal night, 
The carnage and blood 

Of the fierce, ghastly fight. 

When Cortez of Spain 

In the wild tempest stood. 
And fought till the lake 

Was crimson with blood! 
Like a rock in the sea, 

'Mid lightning and hail, 
Unflinching he stood 

In his armor of mail. 

I heard the fierce storm 

Of battle again; 
And the war-cry loud 

Of the warriors of Spain; 
The sound of the war drum — 

The Aztec's wild yell— 
The groans of the dying 

In battle that fell. 



THE TREE OF ''LA NO CHE TRISTE: 

The old tree still stands; 

Its leaves are still green, 
Though a thousand bright summers 

And more it has seen; 
But where now is he 

Who under it sighed, 
And wept on that night 

O'er the soldiers who died? 

Like a dream of the night, 

From earth he has gone, 
Remembered alone 

By the wrongs he has done; 
By a kingdom destroyed— 

By an empire broke — 
By a people enslaved 

And bound to a yoke. 

And where is the arm 

The sceptre that swayed. 
Which continents ruled 

And millions obeyed ? 
Departed and vanished 

Forever away. 
Has the magical power 

Of the " Yo, El Rey!'' 

The banner of Spain 

As it floats on the breeze, 
No longer is mistress 

Of the Indian seas; 
No longer is echoed 

Her cannons' loud roar. 
From the snows of the Arctic 

To Magellan's bleak shore. 

Now quenched is her power. 

And dimm'd is her fame, 
Her stately Hidalgos 

Exist but in name; 



79 



8o THE TREE OF ''LA NO CHE TRISTE. 

Like this old, gnarled tree, 

She 's hoary with age, 
And her glory exists 

But on history's page. 

And such of empires 

Is ever the fate, 
Whatever their glory 

And grandeur of state — 
They have their fresh morn, 

And their bright noonday, 
Their eve of decline 

And night of decay. 

City of Mexico, July 28, 1892. 



EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. 

[THOMAS T. BOULDIN.] 



^N ARGUMENT IN FAVOR OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE 

SOUL, DRAWN FROM THE REVEALINGS 

OF NATURE. 

" Jf a man die, shall he live again?" 

My worthy friend, both you and I 
Have seen Hfe's early years go by; 
And on our heads some snowflakes He, 

That plainly show 
That soon the springs of life will dry 

And cease to flow. 

What think you, then, our lots will be 
When we have crossed the misty sea, 
And reached that wide eternity, 

Where all at last 
Will find a place by just decree 

When life has passed ? 

W^ill still ihQ pulse of Memory beat, 
And still her whispering voice be sweet ? 
Will earthly friends each other greet 

Upon that shore ? 
Will loved ones there together meet 

To part no more ? 

Can we at will return to earth 
To seek again our place of birth, 
And find again the household hearth 

Where we have been ? 
And hear again its songs of mirth. 

Though all unseen ? 



\ 



I 



82 EPISTLE TO A ERIEND. 

Or, in a dark, unconscious state. 
Must we some resurrection wait, 
When we shall learn an endless fate ? 

If 'tis to dwell 
Within the shining, crystal gate. 

Or chained in hell ? 

Or is identic being lost. 

In an infinite ocean tossed. 

When Death's dark river we have crossed? 

Will Memory, then, 
Sleep ever on a soundless coast. 

Nor speak again ? 

It is, I know, a question hard 

For schoolman learned or rhyming bard 

To tell what laws of Nature guard 

The pass of gloom; 
Or say what is the soul's award 

Beyond the tomb. 

Yet still, by Nature's laws we may. 
With Reason's lamp, oft find the way 
That leads us to a glorious day 

Of cheerful light; 
From where the gloomy shadows lay 

Of sullen night. 

What does the voice of Nature teach ? 
What does the tongue of Reason preach ? 
For what does Hope forever stretch 

An anxious hand ? 
It is that we at last may reach 

Some brighter land! 

And by these teachings, I believe 
That, when this earthly life we leave^ 
And from its toils obtain reprieve, 

That Memory will 
In brighter lands than we conceive,. 

Be conscious still. 



EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. 83 

No foolish plans has Nature laid: 
The flower that decks the sunny glade 
Or blooms within the forest shade, 

The orbs that shine — 
For certain e7ids were wisely made 

By fixed design. 

And thus, these yearning hopes that swell 

Within my bosom, surely tell 

That Death's dark shadows ne'er can quell 

This soul of mine; 
Nor cycling ages sound the knell 

Of thought divine. 

Therefore, my friend, when life is o'er, 
And we shall toil on earth no more, 
Nor feel its storms so bleak and sore, 

I think we '11 meet — 
And find upon some pleasant shore 

A sweet retreat. 

And then, with large, expanded mind. 
And vision then no longer blind. 
We '11 seek the eternal cause to find 

Of circling years. 
And learn the beauteous laws that bind 

The rolling spheres. 

Aye, then with vision clear and bright, 
We '11 pierce the curt'ning clouds of night, 
And learn from whence the races sprung 
While yet the teeming earth was young! 

And borne on Thought's immortal wing. 
From Nature's caverns we will bring 
Her secret laws, and bid them tell 
What in the caves of darkness dwell! 

We '11 clothe ourselves in solar light, 
Or roam the starry fields of night; 
The rolling orbs of light we '11 trace 
And find the wandering meteor's place! 



84 EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. 



We '11 learn what feeds the solar beams, 
And why the forked lightning: gleams; 
What fixed the everlasting pole 
And bade the orb around it roll! 

What makes the muttering thunders growl, 
And bids the storm in anger howl; 
From whence the breeze of morning springs. 
And why the evening zephyr sings! 

What gilds the rosy clouds that lie 
Upon the far-off azure sky; 
What paints the little violet blue, 
And gives the rose its blushing hue! 

And oft, in some Arcadian grove, 
By crystal streams, perchance we '11 rove; 
Or 'neath some ever-blooming tree 
We '11 drink celestial melody! 

And sometimes, we '11 return to earth 
To seek again our place of birth, 
And wander by the murmuring stream 
Where we in childhood loved to dream. 

Think not, my friend, that in this strain 
I have indulged in thought profane, — 
For Nature's laws I do revere, 
And give to them a list'ning ear. 

But thought, immortal, must be free, 
And mind must itidependeiit be ; 
In all the spheres where it may dwell. 
It makes its heaven, or makes its hell! 

I love all bright and beauteous things: 
The warbling bird that sweetly sings; 

The blooming flower, 

The crystal shower. 
That summer fruit and verdure brings. 



EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. 

I love the bright and glorious sun; 
The twilight shades, when day is done; 

The solemn night, 

With stars so bright, 
That mark the seasons as they run. 

I love the wide and rolling deep; 
The storms that o'er its bosom sweep; 

Its foamy waves, 

And coral caves, 
Where calm the angry billows sleep. 

I love earth's green and grassy hills; 
Its spreading plains and murmuring rills; 

Each breeze that blows, 

Each plant that grows. 
And drinks the dew that night distills. 

And by the scenes on earth I love, 
I draw the peaceful realms above; 
And by some standardiown^ in this, 
I paint a future life of bliss! 

These are my cheerful hopes, in brief, 
And this my firm and fixed belief. 
And still shall be, till life is o'er. 
And I shall feel its storms no more. 

So, when at last I 'm called to die, 
And on a mortal couch shall lie, 
Let not one tear of grief be shed 
By those I love around my bed. 

But let the last that I may see 
On earth all bright and cheerful be, 
And be the sounds I love to hear. 
The last that fall upon my ear. 

I would not have a flower to shed 
A single leaf, or droop its head, 
In sorrow o'er the common doom 
That lays me in the silent tomb. 



85 



86 EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. 

I would not have a summer's day 
Robbed of one bright and cheerful ray, 
When Nature makes my quiet bed 
And lays the turf above my head. 

I would not have the cypress wave 
And cast its shadow on my grave; 
Nor would I have the willow weep 
Above the spot where I may sleep. 

But plant the lily and the rose 
Around the place of my repose, 
And there at morn and eve be heard 
The sweetest song of warbling bird. 

And through the long, bright summer's day, 
There let young children come and play, 
And let young lovers seek that spot 
To pluck the sweet forget-me-not. 



So then, my friend, we 'II not repine 
Because we are in life's decline, 
But- will ourselves with faith resign 

To Nature's laws; 
Although we cannot now divine 

The Infinite Cause. 

'Tis meet, when summer leaves are shed, 
And summer flowers all are dead. 
And summer verdure all has fled, — 

That then the stem 
To stern decay should bow its head 

And sleep with them. 

Then let pale Azrael bend his bow. 

And let the fatal arrow go 

That strikes alike the high and low. 

Whene'er he will; 
We will, beneath the mortal blow. 

Be hopeful still! 



^ 



EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. 

For though we ma}' not carry o'er 
The river dark an earthly store 
Of shining gems and golden ore,— 

Yet Memory, 
When we can use sitch thi7igs no more, 

Still bright may be. 

Then let us while in earthly lands, 

Keep pure our hearts and clean our hands, 

That, when life's ever-ebbing sands 

Are wasted all, 
Bright thoughts may come in shining bands 

At Memory's call. 



^1 



San Francisco, iJ 



TO A WITHERED ROSE 
(which had been presented by a young lady 



Emblem of joys that quickly pass, 
And early hopes that soon decay, 

Pale, withered flower, how soon, alas! 
Thy lovely hues have passed away. 

This morn upon thy bosom slept 
The tears of love that night had shed; 

But ere again the night had wept, 
Thy beauty had forever fled. 

These withered leaves are left alone. — 

Sad relics of departed bloom; 
They tell of youthful pleasures gone. 

And hopes that perish in the tomb. 

Beneath the chilling breath of Time, 
Full soon the fairest flower will fade; 

And oft, alas! while in its prime. 
The blooming rose in dust is laid. 

And thus, how oft the lovely flower 

That blooms on beauty's cheek so bright. 

Like this pale thing, in one short hour 
Is withered by untimely blight! 

Oh, long may she who gave this rose 
Ere yet its bloom had passed away. 

Escape the dark and bitter woes 
That cloud so oft the brightest day! 

And when upon her youthful brow 
The wintry hand of age is laid. 

And flowers that bloom so sweetly now 
Have withered in life's evening shade, — 



TO A WITHERED ROSE. 89 

Oh, then may Hope, with cheering ray, 
Beam brightly o'er the gathering gloom 

That hangs around life's closing day 
And settles darkly on the tomb! 

And may it promise blissful rest, 
When life's dark scenes of grief are o'er. 

In that bright land where spirits blest 
Will sigh o'er withered hopes no more. 

Emblem of joys that quickly pass. 

And early hopes that soon decay, 
Pale, withered flower, how soon, alas! 

Thy lovely bloom has passed away. 

Jackson, Mississipi, 1847. 



TO THE MEMORY OF THE ROSE. 

(twenty years later.) 



Oh, Ellen dear, that withered rose 
Once bathed in morning dew. 

Which by thy gentle hand was plucked. 
While it in beauty grew, 

Meet emblem was of thy fair cheek, 
On which a transient bloom 

But for a summer morn was bright, 
Then faded in the tomb. 

For while the early dews of life 

Lay brightly on thy breast. 
Kind Nature softly closed thine eyes 

And laid thee down to rest. 

And many a weary year has passed, 

And many a lonely day, 
Since last I saw thy gentle face, 

My dear, dear Ellen Hay! 

Yet, though the chilling hand of Time 

Has on my brow been laid. 
And I am drifting down life's stream 

Into its autumn shade, 

And though those rosy lips of thine. 
Once sweet with fragrant breath. 

All cold and silent long have slept 
Within the halls of Death, 

Still, still the memory of those times 
Comes brightly back to me. 

Like the sweet songs my mother sang 
As I sat on her knee! 



TO THE MEMORY OF THE ROSE. 91 

Yes, though the flowers of twenty springs 

Have bloomed above thy head, 
And twice ten winters cast their snows 

Upon thy lonely bed, 

And though, perchance, beside thy grave 

Alone the willow weeps, 
A silent, drooping mourner o'er 

The spot where Ellen sleeps, — 

Yet often visions clear and bright 

Of that fair face of thine. 
Bring back to me in dreaming hours 

Sweet memories of lan^ syne. 

I know thou art an angel now; 

That, in a land of bliss. 
Thou hast forgotten all the woes 

That made thee weep in this; 

But well I ween there is on earth 

One Httle sunny spot, 
Which, even in thy home of love, 

Thou hast not yet forgot; 

It is a well-remembered place 

Beneath a garden-tree, 
Where from thy virgin hand I took 

The rose thou gav'st to me. 

And, Ellen dear, well do I know, 

A flower thou hast not found 
Amid the bowers of Paradise 

That bloomed on holier ground! 

San Francisco, 1867. 



UNDER A CLOUD. 



Oh, how sweetly I would rest 
With the turf upon my breast 

Lightly laid; 
And how calm w^ould be this brow, 
Which so throbs with anguish now, 

In death's shade! 

Then the wandering breeze would sigh, 
As it softly whispered by, 

Round my tomb; 
And the silent dews that sleep 
On the breast of Night would weep 

O'er my doom. 

And the bending grass would wave 
O'er my soon-forgotten grave, 

Fresh and green; 
And the early wild flowers shed 
Fragrance round my lonely bed, 

All unseen. 

But how sweetly I would sleep 
In the silent grave so deep, 

Lowly laid; 
With the turf above my head. 
And the damp earth for my bed, 

Freshly made. 



Jackson, Mississippi, 1846. 



THE SHADOWY LAND. 



Part I. 
ECHOES FROM THE LAND OF BEAUTY. 

''That the dead are seen no viore, I will not undertake to tnai)itain 
against the concurrent and unvaried testimony of all ages and of all 
tiafio7is."--DR. Samuel Johnson, in " Rasselas." 

If ye would learn why passions wild 

No longer cloud my brow, 
And why sweet Peace within my breast 

Has found a dwelling now, 

Then list, and I a tale will tell— 

A tale of many years — 
And some of them were fair and bright, 

And some were dimm'd with tears. 

The star that ruled my natal morn 

A mingled radiance shed 
Of rosy beams and fitful light 

Upon my infant head. 

My spirit drank the rosy light 

As I to manhood grew, 
And from its gentle beams it caught 

A bright and cheerful hue. 

But, ever and anon, a flash 

Of lurid lightning came, 
Which thrilled my brain with living fire, 

And wrapped my soul in flame. 

And, well do I remember now, 

When I was but a child, 
That oft my dreamy mind was filled 

With fancies strange and wild. 



h 



94 THE SHADOWY LAND. 

I loved to roam the hoary woods, 

And seek the lonely shade; 
To wander by the murmuring brook,. 

And o'er the sunny glade; 

I saw in clouds fantastic forms, 

As they were floating past, 
And whispering voices I have heard 

In the autumnal blast; 

And as I wandered o'er the fields 

In summer's breezy morn, 
I heard the sound of rustling wings 

Among the waving corn! 

I loved to watch the silver moon, 
When, with her witching light, 

She in its wizard garments clad 
The soft midsummer night. 

And many an hour I 've watched the glow 

Of the mysterious flame, 
And wondered what its being was. 

And whence its spirit came! 

These were the restless fancies wild. 
Which I in childhood nursed, 

And at such weird springs I sought 
To quench an early thirst. 

Thus, even then, this wayward light 

Awaked within my soul 
The restless thoughts, and fancies wild, . 

Which would not brook control. 

And, by its fitful, flashing beams. 

Oft have I glimpses seen 
Of a beauteous fairy-land 

Where mortals ne'er have been. 

But, like the lightning's lurid glare 
Across the brow of night. 



THE SHADOWY LAND. 95 

These visions bright have quickly passed, 
And faded from my sight. 

The leven but a moment gleams, 

And then is seen no more; 
The midnight gloom again returns 

Still darker than before — 

So ever fled these airy dreams, 

And left my soul in gloom; 
And vainly did I seek a land 

Where flowers immortal bloom. 

And thus a dreamy childhood passed; 

But in the realms of thought, 
With manhood'' s daring mind I still 

This land of beauty sought. 

But ever shrouded was my soul 

In clouds of sullen hue. 
Which on the cold and voiceless grave 

Their mournful shadows threw. 

Yet still, amid the solemn gloom, 

I felt within my breast 
A ceaseless yearning for some hope, 

On which the soul might rest. 

I knelt before Religion's shrine, 

And bade her priests to tell 
Whate'er they knew of some bright land 

Where souls immortal dwell; 

I well observed their solemn rites. 

And to their words gave heed, 
But heard no cheering voice of hope 

In dark, dogmatic creed. 

I then of Reason boldly asked 

To point me out the way 
That leads across the pass of gloom 

To realms of glorious day! 



96 THE SHADOWY LAND. 

She bade me read the open book 
Which Nature wide has spread 

O'er all her teeming fields, to be 
By all her children read. 

I looked upon the blooming flower, 

And on the leafy tree; 
I looked upon the smiling earth, 

And on the rolling sea; 

I looked upon the glorious orb 
That clothes the day in light. 

And on the ever-beaming stars 
That gem the brow of night — 

With reverence and with awe I felt 
The grandeur of that Power 

That clothed the earth with rosy light, 
And planted tree and flower! 

I listened to the warbling bird 

Within its forest home; 
1 looked upon the peaceful herds 

That through the meadows roam; 

And ever cheerful was the song 

Piped by the little bird. 
And 1, from the shepherd's bleating charge, 

No strain of sorrow heard. 

I looked on man! whose lofty thought 
And whose far-reaching mind 

Outspeed the messengers of light 
And leave them far behind; 

Like other things, I saw him born, 
And weep, and laugh, and die, — 

And on the silent bier I saw 
His dust all senseless lie. 

I listened — but no tidings came 
Across the shadowy gloom 



THE SHADOWY LAND. 97 

or any bright and glorious land 
Beyond the silent tomb. 

And wherefore, then, I ever asked, 

Was man with reason born, 
But to be swallowed in that night 

That knows no coming morn ? 

His soul is like a glittering spark, 

But for a moment bright, 
And then is quenched amid the gloom 

Of an eternal night! 

He 's borne beyond the shadowy pass — 

He ne'er returns again; 
And soon his very name is lost 

Among the sons of men. 

'T was lately, in such mood as this, 

I sought a shady glen, 
Far from the busy world of strife 

And the abodes of men. 

It was a sweet, but lonely spot— 

A deep, sequestered dell, 
Where gentle spirits well might haunt, 

And bright-eyed fairies dwell. 

I sat beneath an ancient oak 

Fanned by the evening breeze. 
Which whispered like a spirit's voice 

Among the leafy trees. 

Anon, the dreamy angel came 

That rules the realms of sleep; 
I felt his breath upon my brow, 

And fell in slumbers deep. 

And, in my dreams, methought I still 

Arraigned Creative Power, 
Which gave to man a sadder lot 

Than to the humble flower. 



98 THE SHADOWY LAND. 

And while these dark, rebelhous thoughts. 

Were passing through my mind, 
A gently rusthng sound I heard 

Upon the whispering wind. 

I looked — and lo! before me stood 

A maiden bright and fair; 
Her face was like the silver light. 

And golden was her hair. 

A gently flowing robe she wore — 

A robe of purest white. 
All skirted with the rainbow's hues 

And fringed with morning light! 

The smile upon her angel brow 

Was like the rosy morn 
That beams upon a broken heart, 

When hope is newly born. 

She spake — and on my raptured ear 

The voice that sweetly fell 
Was sweeter than the dulcet notes 

Chimed by a silver bell. 

I sat entranced, with wondering awe, 

But felt no touch of fear, 
When softly sweet these gentle words 

Fell on my listening ear : 

"Lone child," she said, "of mortal birth, 
I, like th^'^elf, was once of earth; 
But now, beneath celestial skies, 
I roam the fields of Paradise. 

" Long have I watched thy wayward life 
In this dark world of weary strife; 
Oft have I kept thy soul from sm. 
And have thy guardian spirit been. 

" And from my peaceful home above, 
I now come on the wings of love 



THE SHADOWY LAND. 

To still the anguish of thy breast 
And give thy troubled spirit rest. 

" Learn, that these yearnings of thy mind 
For what thou 'st sought in vain to find, 
Tell of an ever-burning light 
That ne'er will know a coming night. 

" What though dark clouds of sullen gloom 
Hang brooding o'er the silent tomb? 
The soul outlives the fleeting breath, 
Nor feels the chilling frosts of death! 

" What though the flowers you love on earth 
Are fragile things of mortal birth ? 
They '11 bloom again, with brighter hue, 
In fields that drink celestial dew. 

" No angel with a sweeter face 
E'er found on earth a dwelling-place 
Than Azrael pale, whose marble brow 
Is shaded by the cypress now. 

" As kind and gentle is the one 
Who tells man that his toils are done. 
As are the ones that vigils keep 
Around the cradled infant's sleep. 

" Then look no more with doubt and fear 
Upon the cold and silent bier,— 
For Death bears in his icy hand 
A passport to a brighter land. 

" Behold! I now will show to thee 
What few of mortal birth may see— 
The wonders of that land that lies 
Beyond the ken of mortal eyes." 

And as she spoke, upon my brow 

She gently laid her hand; 
When, in a moment, I beheld 

A bright, enchanted land! 



99 



THE SHADOWY LAND. 

I then beheld the secret laws 

Of the material world; 
And saw its teeming spirit-life 

In endless circles whirled. 

I saw the golden beams of light 

In cloud and rainbow wove, 
And brightly wrought in flower and leaf, 

In garden, field, and grove. 

The subtle spirits I beheld 

That wing the mighty deep. 
And through the boundless realms of mind 

Harmonious order keep. 

My vision, with immortal power. 
Glanced through the depths of space, 

And reached a point where human thought 
Ne'er found a resting-place. 

Still onward through the soundless void 

My spirit held its flight, 
Beyond the farthest twinkling star 

That beams on mortal sight! 

And still I saw the glowing orbs 

That light the deep profound; 
The rolling planet, still beheld, 

On its eternal round. 

On weary wing, wild Thought returned, 

And at my feet I saw 
The ever-circling changes wrought 

By reproductive law. 

I watched the birth of tiny things. 

Their growth and their decay; 
I saw them in the morning born. 

And perish with the day. 

But ever from the crumbling dust. 
As it returned to earth, 



THE SHADOWY LAND. 

Organic life agam appeared 
Of more exalted birth! 

And in this constant change, I saw- 
That nought was lost or gained; 

That each material atom still 
Its force and form retained. 

I looked on Man — mysterious Man! — 

I saw him proudly stand 
The noblest earthly monument 

Of The Creative Hand. 

His threefold being I beheld, 

So wondrously combined: 
His mortal form! his glowing soul! 

And his eternal mind! 

Around his lofty brow I saw 

A beaming radiance shine, 
Which showed his Maker's image there, 

And stamped his soul divine. 

I saw the grandeur of his mind, 
Which, on the wings of Thought, 

Has sounded Nature's darkest realms. 
And thence rich treasures brought. 

I saw him born like other things 
That breathe a mortal breath; 

Like other things, I saw him fall 
Before the scythe of Death. 

But, while his mortal form decayed, 

And dust to dust returned, 
I marked a glowing spirit-light 

That still all brightly burned. 

I saw it pass the shadowy rim 

That bounds material sight; 
And still it shone amid the gloom 

With undiminished li2;ht! 



THE SHADOWY LAND. 

I saw it reach a spirit land — 

A land of sweet repose, 
Where bitter sighs are never heard, 

Nor tear of sorrow flows. 

And on that bhssful radiant shore, 
'Mid flowers of fadeless bloom, 

I saw that ever-glowing light 
An angel form assume! 

But mortal tongue may never tell. 
Nor paint may mortal hand. 

The beauty of that angel form 
In that bright spirit land. 

Nor colors from the rainbow plucked. 
Dashed with the morning light, 

May e'er portray such glorious scene 
Or paint a land so bright. 

And from that beaming land of love 

Came gently to my ear 
A strain of music, soft and sweet, 

Which none but angels hear. 

It bore the melting tones of love 
That warm the spirit's breast. 

And thrill the soul with melody 
In its bright home of rest. 

I turned to whence the music came, 

And, on a beaming plain, 
I saw a band of spirits bright 

That sang a choral strain. 

I listened to the chiming notes 
That through the ether rung, 

When softly sweet this song I heard 
By quiring angels sung: 



THE SHADOWY LAND. 103 



" Now touch the harp of softest string 
To which celestial spirits sing 

The songs of earth, 
And which the sweetest memories bring 

Of mortal birth. 

" Its chords they breathe an earthly sound 
That calls us back to earthly ground; 

Then, spirits all! 
Where make we now our earthly round, 

At Memory's call?" 

FIRST VOICE. 

" I go the widow's heart to cheer, 
And dry the lonely orphan's tear; 
To raise the mourner's drooping head 
Who weeps above the early dead." 

SECOND VOICE. 

*' And I, to seek a lonely spot, 
By those on earth remembered not; 
To bid the early violet bloom 
Upon a long-forgotten tomb." 

THIRD VOICE. 

^' I go to seek an early friend, 
Softly o'er his couch to bend; 
To bid him dream of daj^s gone by. 
And cherish hopes that never die." 

FOURTH VOICE. 

^' And I, to wander through a grove. 
Where, while on earth, I loved to rove; 
To read upon the beechen tree 
A name that still is dear to me! " 

FIFTH VOICE. 

" I go to list the ocean wave 
That murmurs round a lonely grave; 



I04 THE SHADOWY LAND. 

The grave of one I loved of yore, 
Who perished on an Indian shore." 

SIXTH VOICE, 

" I, to the ghastly bed of death 
Go to catch the latest breath, 
And whisper in the dying ear 
A name that it will love to hear." 

CHORUS. 

" Then, spirits all! we will away 
Upon the glancing beams of day 

To earthly lands; 
On sweetest memories there to lay 
Our spirit hands." 

Hushed was the song — but echo still 

Returned the notes again; 
And azure hill and golden cloud 

Prolonged the dying strain. 

Again my gentle spirit friend 
The dreamy silence broke; 

And in the sweetest tones of love, 
She thus, in music, spoke: 

" Behold the land of sweet repose. 
Which never care nor sorrow knows! 
Behold the place, where spirits blest 
Will find at last a peaceful rest! 

" And there, this life's wild scenes are o'er, 
Its bitter storms are felt no more; 
For there no drooping willow weeps 
Above the spot where friendship sleeps. 

" But light as soft as angels' eyes 
Beams ever from ethereal skies, 
And rolls in waves of crystal sheen 
O'er fields of everlasting green. 



THE SHADOWY LAND. 105 

And sweeter sounds than e'er were heard 
From tuneful lyre or warbling bird 
Forever thrill those realms above 
With choral songs of heavenly love! 

Then weep not o'er man's earthly lot, 
Nor dream that he has been forgot 
By Him who guides the sparrow's flight 
And rules the tempest in its might. 

To man a mortal part He gave, 
And bade the ever-yawning grave 
His crumbling dust receive at last, 
When earthly life with him had passed. 

Earth is the garden nursery, where 
The moral being must prepare 
For purer pleasures that await 
The spirit in a loftier state. 

And in this garden man must sow 
On earthly soil the seeds that grow, 
That bloom in Paradise, and bear 
The sweetest flowers that blossom there. 

The fairest flower in heavenly lands 
Was nurtured once by earthly hands ; 
Beneath the smiles of love it grew, 
And caught from love its brightest hue. 

That flower, it had a mortal breath, 
Which perished in the shades of death; 
But light and beauty still remain. 
And bloom in brighter lands again! 

Sweet are the notes that roll along 
The seraph's harp of living song. 
When, in celestial choirs above, 
Are heard the trembling chords of love! 

Love fills the spirit's breast with fire, 
And tunes the angel's golden lyre; 



io6 THE SHADOWY LAND. 

Still, as he sweeps the sounding strings, 
Love is the melting strain he sings. 

" But, mingled with these thrilling notes, 
A softer strain of rnusic floats; 
It is the chord of melody 
That breathes the name of Charity! 

" And angels, e'en in Paradise, 
Oft wipe a teardrop from their eyes. 
And softly give a list'ning ear 
That they this gentle name may hear. 

" Thou now hast seen the land of peace, 
Where earthly toils and troubles cease; 
Where weary souls, when life is o'er, 
Will sigh o'er withered hopes no more. 

" If man would find that sweet repose 
Which none but angel spirit knows. 
Then let him spend his earthly days 
In seeking Wisdom's pleasant ways. 

" This peaceful home is soonest won 
By deeds of virtue, kindly done; 
The wicked heart, the cruel hand. 
Long, long may seek this happy land — 

" For there 's a place of fearful doom, 
O'erhung by clouds of sullen gloom, 
Where sinful souls must expiate 
The wrongs done in a mortal state. 

" And there they must in darkness stay 
Till earthly crimes are purged away; 
But none may know or ever tell 
How long they thus in durance dwell. 

" For every heart they caused to bleed, 
Remorse upon their souls shall feed; 
For every tear they caused to fall, 
They there shall taste a drop of gall. 



THE SHADOWY LAND. 107 

" But, even there, redeeming light 
Beams softly on the darkened sight; 
While gentle Memory still remains, 
And Hope still sings her cheering strains, 

" These sisters twain are ever found 
Amid the gloom that hangs around 
The darkened soul, which still they cheer 
With promise of a brighter sphere. 

" Sweet Memory bears within her hand 
A rosebud from another land; 
While, bound with wreath of fadeless green, 
The radiant brow of Hope is seen! 

" And though its bloom in darkness sleeps, 
The rosebud still its fragrance keeps; 
While Hope, in voice of cheering strain. 
Tells that the flower will bloom again. 

" And should bright Hope no longer sing, 
And flowers no more sweet Memory bring. 
Kind Mercy from despair would save 
In Lethe's dark, forgetful wave. 

" Oblivion's waters then would roll 
In silence o'er the insensate soul, 
And bear it to a soundless shore 
Where Reason's voice is heard no more — 

'' For burning wrath and vengful ire 
There light no fierce, vindictive fire, 
But through the darkness softly shine 
The gentle rays of love divine. 

" Love rules the radiant realms of light, 
And reaches the abodes of night; 
All spheres of light and darkness prove 
That love 's divine — that God is Love! 

" Behold the face that smiles on thee! 
And learn how deep that love must be 



io8 THE SHADOWY LAND. 

That calls one from a land of bliss 
To seek an early friend in this." 

I looked! and saw the smiling face 

Of one I used to know, 
Whose gentle voice I loved to hear 

Long, weary years ago. 

Of one who, like a fragile flower, 
While in her earliest bloom 

Was stricken by the hand of Death 
And perished in the tomb. 

I saw again the melting light 

Of her soft, beaming eye, 
The same sweet smile upon her lips 

As in the days gone by. 

I listened to a well-known voice 
Which had been silent long. 

As to an old, familiar air 
She sweetly sang this song: 

SONG. 

" Oh, why do you sigh 
O'er the hopes gone by, 

As you bend o'er the couch of the dying? 
And why should the tear 
Fall sad on the bier 

Where the friend of your bosom is lying? 

'' And why should you weep 
In anguish so deep 

O'er the bed where a loved one is sleeping? 
For sweet is the rest 
Of the spirit that's blest 

In a land that knows not of weeping. 

" And oft from above. 
On the wings of love, 
It may visit the home of your dwelling, 



I 



THE SHADOWY LAND. 109 

To whisper of rest 
To the sorrowing breast, 
When the bosom with anguish is swelling. 

" Then, soft be the tear 

That falls on the bier. 
Since, still from your grief you may borrow. 

The hope that we '11 meet 

Where rest will be sweet, 
In a land that knows not of sorrow." 

She ceased; — but still upon my ear 

The lingering echoes hung; 
For never had I heard before 

A song so sweetly sung. 

And as the music died away, 

The gentle vision fled — 
When I awoke, and lo! the dews 

Were falling on my head. 

And on my cheek a gentle tear 

Told that the dews of love 
Had fallen softly on my soul 

From peaceful realms above. 



San Francisco, 1867. 



THE SHADOWY LAND. 



Part II. 

RESPONSIVE HARMONIES OF NATURE. 

Was this a wild, fantastic dream 
Of unsubstantial forms, that gleam 
Across the restless mind; 
Which, tho' all bright and beauteous seem, 
No traces leave behind ? 
No; for waking, still I found, 
I heard soft murmurings round 
Of whispering voices near, 
Whose sweet, harmonious sound 
Fell softly on my ear. 

The magic tones were low and sweet 
As tinkling sound of seraph's feet. — 

Or whispering sigh 

Of evening breezes 

Murmuring by. 
A harp upon each flow' ret hung, 
No blade of grass but sweetly sung, — 

And tiniest things 

Seemed vocal all 

With trembling strings. 
Nor ear alone the music heard; 
Nor sound alone, my spirit stirred; 

For pictures bright 

Of beauteous forms 

Fell on my sight. 

Around, as in a fairy-land. 
With wondering eyes, I saw 

That forms of beauty ever spring. 
From one eternal law, — 



THE SHADOWY LAND. iii 

The same harmonious law that bends 

The rainbow o'er the storm, 
Grace to the drooping willow gives, 

And shapes the daisy's form! 

It lights the beaming eye of love, 

And paints the lily's hue; 
It wings the rosy beams of light, 

And moulds the drops of dew! 

It waves the bending, bearded corn; 

It swells the rolling tide; 
And forms the misty clouds that float 

Along the mountain side! 

I listened to the tuneful songs 

That Light and Beauty sing 
To Nature's ever-sounding harp 

Of sweet, harmonious string; 

Till, 
My soul was wrapped in breathing melody, 
And my spirit drank delicious music. 
All Nature seemed inspired with sensuous being 
And clothed in beauteous robes unseen before — 
And lovely forms, till now invisible, 
Smiled on me — within the drooping willow, 
As in the evening breeze it gently waved. 
Sweet angel forms of beauty I beheld! 
While deep within my soul, soft, trembling chords 
Till now untouched, which ne'er before had felt 
Great Nature's breath, from their deep slumbers woke,.. 
And notes accordant gave to the sweet sounds 
That wrapt my soul, and my very being thrilled 
With echoes from the Spirit Land of Beauty. 
I heard the eternal anthem which Nature 
Sings to her ever-sounding harp, whose chords 
Harmonic, vibrate 'neath the earthquake's tread 
And softly tremble in the evening breeze. 



THE SHADOWY LAND. 

I listened, till 
iMy soul, entranced, seemed gently borne away, 
As on the wings of melody. 

Anon, 

Dim shadows gathered round me, and on my sight 
Thick darkness fell; which deep and deeper grew, 

Till o'er the gloom the lightning broke, 
And thus the rolling thunder spoke: 

" 1 tread the leven's fiery path, 
And lead the tempest in its wrath, 
And with my tongue of lurid flame 
The might of Nature I proclaim! 

" But though I bid the mountain shake. 
And cause the solid earth to quake, 
I still in Nature's anthem sing 
And touch a deep, harmonious string." 

The thunder ceased — when all around 
I heard a low and wailing sound; 
It rose upon the rising blast, 
Then spoke the tempest as it passed : 



' My home is 'mid the dunnest gloom 
Where red the lightnings glare; 

I ride upon the stormy clouds. 
And winds my coursers are! 

' I scatter wide the drifting snows 

Upon the Northern gale. 
And bid the angry Southern clouds 

Pour down the smiting hail! 

' I breathe upon the ocean's breast, 
I wake the billow's sleep. 

And wrapped in foamy clouds I ride 
Across the howling deep! 

' Yet still before my angry breath 
The fetid vapors fly; 




THE SHADOWY LAND. 113 

I cleanse the pestful spots on earth, 
And clear the murky sky!" 

The tempest ceased; — and soft and low, 

Among the rustling trees, 
In breathing notes of melody 

Thus sang the Southern breeze: 

"Oh, I sing a sweet song, when the daybeam is born. 
And I breathe on the brow of the bright, blushing morn; 
But I sleep when the sunbeam is bright on the rose, 
And I sing a soft air o'er the evening's repose. 

" I bathe my light wings in the sweetest perfume 
That the spring blossoms breathe in their earliest bloom; 
I kiss the soft cheek of the maiden so fair. 
And I play 'mid the curls of her bright, golden hair. 

" I whisper of things that no mortal hath seen; 
And I tell of a land where no mortal hath been, — 
Of a land that knows not of shadow or gloom. 
Where the flowers of beauty ne'er fade in their bloom. 

** I breathe on the harp — and its wild, wizard strings 
Softly echo the song that the bright spirit sings 
At the twilight of eve, when returning to earth. 
It seeks a lone friend in the place of its birth." 






With a low, whispering sigh. 
The breeze murmured by; 
When thus sang the rain, — 
The soft, pattering rain, — 
As gently it fell from the sky : 

" I 'm born of the mist, the soft, rolling mist 
That veils the dim mountains so blue; 
That melts in tears of love on the earth. 
And bathes the bright morning in dew! 

"At the sound of my voice the wild flowers bloom; 
The meadows in verdure are clad; 
The fields then put on their garments of green, 
And the sweet face of Nature is glad! " 





114 THE SHADOWY LAND. 

The cloud floated on — the gloom passed away — 
A sunbeam shone bright from the West, 

And a rainbow hung in love o'er the earth 
As Nature sank softly to rest. 

Meanwhile, a sound as of myriad voices 
Rolled back in waves of music from the land 
Where spirit, in ethereal garments clothed, 
In echoing strains of sweetest harmony 
Responds to Nature's earthly melodies. 

It came like a voice o'er the dim, misty seas, 

Or the sound of a harp that 's awaked by the breeze^ 

Like the song of a seraph, it floated on high, 

And died in soft echoes in the depths of the sky. 

I listened; and, mingled with the dying strain, 
Again I heard the voice that in my dream 
So sweetly sang — 

And thus, methought, it sang: 

" Listen, listen, son of earth! 

Let thy soul be still and hear; 
List to the whispering words I breathe 
Now so softly in thine ear: 

" In the silent realms of sleep. 

As an angel, I have sought thee; 
In the rosy land of dreams. 
As a spirit, I have taught thee. 

" Again, I come to bid thee now 

On Nature's beauteous face to look. 
And teach thy mind to understand 
The language of her glorious book; 

" To list her ever-tuneful harp — 

Her tuneful harp of countless strings; 
O'er which eternal anthems roll 
As to its sounding chords she sings. 



THE SHADOWY LAND. 115 

*' Then calmly look upon her face, 

And boldly come before her shrine; 
Learn wisdom from her glorious laws, 
And listen to her voice divine! 

" Aye, claim thy lofty heritage 

From her who gave thy spirit birth, 
And placed thee here, in being far 
Above the humbler things of earth. 

" Oh, come! and let thy weary head 
Upon her gentle bosom rest, 
And there, with faith and love, repose. 
As child upon its mother's breast. 

" Behold how kind and just is she 

Who for her children still provides. 
And never in vindictive wrath 
From them her face in anger hides: 

" For thee, above the smiling earth 
She hangs the azure, arching sky. 
And forms the fleecy clouds that float 
Like beauteous angels softly by. 

" For thee she clothes the new-born day 
In beaming robes of rosy light. 
And sets a crown of glittering stars 
Upon the ebon brow of night. 

' For thee, the sky's eternal blue 
Is mirrored on the rolling seas; 
For thee the tempest pipes its notes, 
And sofdy sings the evening breeze. 

' For thee the mountain rears its head. 

And with the rattling thunder speaks. 
And calls the forked lightnings there 
To play around its hoary peaks. 

For thee she lights the beaming eye 
With rays of love that softly shine, 



ii6 THE SHADOWY LAND. 

Which shed a radiance o'er the brow 
That makes the human face divine! 

" These are thine, by right of birth — 
Thine, by the right of heritage, — 
Leaves from the book where Nature writes 
Her laws of love on every page. 

" Thine, because to thee she gave 

The powers of mind to understand 
Her everlasting songs of love, — 
The works of her almighty hand. 

" No orphan ones does Nature know. 
But ever kindly cares for all; 
She rules the whirlwind in its wrath, 
And guides the snowflake in its fall. 

" The birds she teaches when to sing; 

The flowers of spring the time to bloom ; 
O'er man she watches at his birth. 
And softly lays him in the tomb. 

" Oh, listen, then, to Nature's voice! 
And let thy soul be still and hear; 
Oh, listen to the words she breathes 
And whispers softly in thine ear! 

" Listen, learn, and be resigned; 
Patient be, and murmur not — 
Revere the laws that made thee man, 
And gave to thee thy earthly lot. 

" These same laws, when life is o'er. 
Will raise thee to a loftier sphere. 
And give thy spirit such a place 
As it may justly merit there. 

" Mind is progressive — and ever still. 
In its onward, upward flight. 
It seeks its own affinities 

In realms of intellectual light. 



THE SHADOWY LAND. 117 

" Organic life, by Nature's laws 

The realms of light still ever seeks; 
And, as in being its ascends. 
Through higher forms of beauty speaks. 

" The humblest plant that springs from earth 
Obeys an all-controlling power, 
Which forms the root, and crowns the stem 
With verdant leaf and blooming flower! 

" Behold the gaudy butterfly 

With fragile form and flowery wing! 
But yesterday it was a zvorm — 
A shapeless and unsightly thing. 

" The vapory clouds of fleecy forms 
That fleck the far-off" azure deep, 
Were born of sullen, stagnant pools, 
That in the darkest jungles sleep. 

" Thus beauty from corruption springs; 
Life is the offspring of decay; 
And death is but a passing night 
From which is born a brighter day! 

" Then never murmur at thy lot; 
But ever with unwavering trust 
Rely upon great Nature's laws, — 
For they are ever kind and just. 

" Repine not, though Affliction's hand 
Be sorely laid upon thy head, 
Nor shed the bitter hopeless tear, 
When all thine earthly joys are fled. 

" For as the purest virgin gold 

By searching fire has been refined, 
So earthly sorrow, justly viewed, 
Refines and elevates the mind." 



ii8 THE SHADOWY LAND. 

The voice instructive ceased — 

When softly rolled across my sight 
A crystal wave of spirit light 
Of dreamy hue, but brighter far 
Than ever beamed from sun or star. 

Wave followed wave, — till far and wide 
I saw a swelling, silvery tide. 
Which onward rolled in glittering spray 
Far in the realms of sunless day. 

Anon, along the sounding sea 
Came liquid strains of melody, 
Whose chiming notes a cadence bore. 
Which I, methought, had heard before. 

I listened, till in accents clear 
Sweet voices fell upon my ear; 
Low voices, soft, of melting strain, 
That brought the past to me again. 

And as my vision clearer grew, 
Bright forms I saw that once I knew. 
Which 'neath the drooping willow's shade 
With many tears long since were laid. 

The beaming smiles of love they gave, 
Told nothing of the ghastly grave. 
Nor bore their cheeks of youthful bloom 
One shadow of the mournful tomb. 

I heard no voice of sounding lyre, 
Nor seraph saw with lips of fire; 
Nor through the beaming radiance rung- 
Loud anthem by Archangel sung. 

But, soft as music's gendest sigh, 
Sweet echoes came of days gone by, 
Which still, though not of mortal birth, 
Retained the lingering tones of earth. 



THE SHADOWY LAND. 119 

As I in wonder gazed, a zone 

Of brighter radiance round me shone, 

Which gave my strengthened vision power to range 
Ethereal lands, and pierce the sullen gloom 
Which hangs o'er Nature's dark, mysterious caves. 
The Spirit Land of Beauty I beheld 
Resplendent with harmonious forms of love. 
And glorious with excessive light, which rolled 
In crystal waves o'er Azrael's Vale of Gloom, 
And shed a radiance on the shores of Time. 

Again, a whispering voice instruction gave : 
" Behold the living light of inspiration 
Which ever beams on man's immortal mind! 
Which brings revealings from the home of Thought 
Of brighter things than e'er are found on earth. 



" The Poet lights his mystic lamp 
At this Promethean flame, 
And on the magic page of song 
He leaves a deathless name! 

" It fires a Raphael's burning soul 
And lights his beaming eye, 
And lo! the speaking canvas glows 
With things that never die. 

" Beneath the sculptor's hand it bids 
The snowy marbles tell 
Of some ethereal land of love 
Where forms of beauty dwell! 

" By it the sage's lofty mind 

Scans the wide fields of space. 
And of the far-off rolling world 
Finds the appointed place! 

" It falls upon the tuneful lyre, 

And wakes the Orphean string 



I20 THE SHADOWY LAND. 

Which trembles with the notes of love 
To which the angels sing! 

" 'T is this that gives to man on earth 
His joys, his hopes, his fears. 
That lights his face with beaming smiles 
And melts his soul to tears. 

" 'T is this that fills his yearning soul 
With glowing thoughts sublime 
Of some far brighter land than this 
Beyond the mists of time. ' ' 

" Arm now thyself with courage! nor let pale Fear 
Thy soul affright; for now shalt thou behold 
Another and a grander scene — the last 
In this bright drama." 

Alone I stood amid o'erwhelming darkness — 
No light I saw of sun, or moon, or star; 
Hushed was the whispering voice of Memory, 
And all unconscious of a past, I seemed 
A lone dweller in a land of silence. 

* * * -A- w * ;<■ * 
Reverberate thunder shook the realms of gloom, 
And from the abysmal depths loud rumblings came 
As if a mighty earthquake passed — 

* -X- -X- -x- -x- ■$(• -;;- * 

Again 
Deep silence fell, and darkness more profound 
Around me hung. 

Anon, a sound like voice of clarion shrill. 
Or trump, by breath of loudest tempest blown. 
Smote the sullen face of Night, and rent the veil 
Which hung in gloom around her sable brow — 
When, through the rifted blackness softly streamed 
A dawn of rosy light! and on its beams 
A troop of winged Echoes, chiming came. 
Whose silvery voices told of coming Beauty — 
At sound of which, pale grew the brow of Night, 



THE SHADOWY LAND. 

And Discord affrighted fled, and muttering 

Sought a deeper land of darkness. Meanwhile, 

Beneath a canopy of golden clouds, 

On which, o'er-arching rainbows prismatic 

Glories shed, Immortal Beauty I beheld 

Amid a band of choral Harmonies. 

A zone of silver light begirt her robe 

Of azure hue; and on her brow she wore 

A crown of glittering stars. Her servants, were 

Incessant Melodies! Her ministers, 

The winged Beams of Light! To these, she thus 

Commanding spoke : 

"Wing, wing your swift flight 
Through the regions of night, 

Where Discord wild revel is keeping; 
And pierce with the gleams 
Of your sunniest beams 

The deep caves where Darkness is sleeping. 

" Bid the light zephyr sing 

At the birth of the sprmg, 
While Nature her face is adorning; 

Bid the teardrops of Night 

Turn to crystals of light 
In the bright, rosy beams of the morning. 

" 'Mid the leaves of the rose 

Let sweet Beauty repose. 
When the rays of the morning are shining; 

On the lily's pale breast 

Lay her softly to rest, 
When the day in the West is declining. 

" With the hues of the sky 
Touch the fair maiden's eye. 
When her face in the sunlight is beaming; 
And around her soft bed 
Let bright fancies be shed, 
When of beauty and love she is dreaming. 



ii22 THE SHADOWY LAND. 

'* Then, away on your flight 
To the dwelling of Night, 

Where Discord wild revel is keeping; 
And pierce with the gleams 
Of your sunniest beams 

The deep caves where Darkness is sleeping." 

She ceased — and as a signal, smote 
A sounding shell of magic note: 

Then, on the lightning's wing of flame 
Swift messengers around her came 
With glittering bows and quivers bright 
Which bore the silver shafts of light. 

Anon, the face of Darkness grew 
All radiant with a roseate hue. 
And Light and Beauty now were seen 
Where Discord wild before had been. 

And as the shadows backward rolled 
Before the beaming clouds of gold. 
Grim Night and Gloom fled far av.'ay 
Before the piercing glance of Day. 

I looked, and lo! an azure sky 
Tinged with the blushing hues of morn 

Hung o'er a couch of rosy clouds, 
Where lay a world from Darkness born. 

It was a land of hill and dale, 

Of mountain blue and flowery vale; 

Of meadow green, 

And winding stream 

Of crystal sheen. 
A smiling land of forest shade. 
Of spreading plain and sunny glade, 

And whispering breeze. 

That softly sang 

O'er silver seas. 



» 



THE SHADOWY LAND. 123 

And it lay in repose, and sweetly at rest, 
As an infant asleep on a soft, heaving breast. 

Again the lamp of Memory burned; 
The past again to me returned; 
When, lo! I saw this beauteous birth 
Was of the smiling land of earth. 
I knew it by its rolling hills. 
Its rivers broad and murmuring rills; 

Knew it to be 

The cradle-land 

Of Memory. 

A whispering breeze, the new-born land 
With balmy breath now softly fanned. 
Which rolled the curt'ning clouds away 
That hung around the couch of Day. 

When, lo! upon the ethereal blue 
Another land lay full in view; 
A pictured land of brighter sheen 
Than e'er my eyes before had seen. 

It bore some likeness to the earth, 
But seemed of more ethereal birth — 
Ethereal, as the light that beams 
Upon the mind in midnight dreams. 

Soft, silvery clouds, all fringed with gold. 

Hung o'er its hills of azure hue. 
And on its emerald plains of light 

The sweetest flowers of beauty grew. 

And vernal groves, and crystal brooks, 
And silver lakes, and streams were there, — 

And beautous birds, whose warbling notes 
Rang sweetly through the ambient air. 

And the beings I saw in that land so bright 

Were robed in the beams of the rosiest light; 

And the bloom on their cheeks and the light of their eyes 

Was the bloom of the rose and the light of the skies! 



124 THE SHADOWY LAND. 

A gulf I saw where Darkness slept, 
Which these two worlds asunder kept, — 

O'er whose unsounded depths, cold gloomy clouds 
Hung brooding, which cast upon the earthly shore 
A chilling shade. 

Again, I looked; and lo! 

A glowing rainbow spanned the gulf 
O'er which the brooding Darkness hung, 

And far adown the silent depths 
Its skirting rays of brightness flung. 

And the swift- winged light o'er the rainbow's arch 

Bore the bright form of Beauty from the land of its birth; 

And smiling it came, and softly it spread 
A mantle of love o'er the bosom of earth! 

And her fair face grew bright with the blushes of love, 
As the spirit of Light her warm bosom caressed, 

And the sweet smile of hope beamed bright on her brow 
As the sunlight of beauty lay soft on her breast. 

And things of beauty then were born; 

Then fair the lily grew; 
The opening rosebud spread its leaves 

And drank the morning dew! 

And whispering zephyrs softly sang 

Around the flowery bed. 
And o'er the rosy couch of Love 

The sweetest fragrance shed. 

This beauteous picture passed away. 
As fades a dream at dawn of day; 
When I, in wonder, looked! and found 
That I was still on earthly ground. 

But, though that vision passed away 
Like dreams at morning light, 



THE SHADOWY LAND. 125 

Yet on bright Fancy's beaming page 
The picture still is bright! 

And this is why dark passions wild 

No longer cloud my brow, 
And why sweet peace within my breast 

Has found a dwelling now. 



San Francisco, 1869. 



HYMN TO THE ANGELS OF BEAUTY. 



Oh, ye angels of peace! ye bright spirits above! 
Whose home is the dwelling of sweet beauty and love, 
From my soul ye have chased the wild phantoms of night, 
And clothed my dark spirit in the garments of Hght. 

On the breath of the morn ye have borne me away 
From the regions of Gloom, to the dwelling of Day; 
On the bosom of eve, ye have soothed me to rest. 
And spread your soft wings of peace o'er my breast. 

Ye have breathed on my brow — wild passion is stilled — 
My soul with the sunlight of beauty is filled! 
And swift-winged Thought, boldly mounting from earth. 
Claims kindred with spirits in the land of its birth! 

My eyes ye have touched! — with rapture I 've seen 
Sweet visions of love, where a desert had been; 
All radiant in hue, and beauteous in form 
As the rainbow that gilds the skirts of the storm. 

On Nature I look in the light of the morn; 
With the birth of the Day, new beauties are born ; 
And the sunlight of eve lays soft at its close 
As a light golden veil o'er an angel's repose. 

On her lone face I look by the moon's silver light, 
And new glories behold in her garments of night; 
Her lamps, as they burn, her orbs, as they roll. 
Pour joy on my spirit, and light on my soul! 

I look upon death — and I shed not a tear 
O'er the pale form of Love that sleeps cold on the bier; 
For the sunbeams of Hope play bright on the tomb. 
And shed a soft light o'er its darkness and gloom. 

And bright-visioned Faith, on pinions of might. 
My spirit has borne to a land of delight! 



HYMN TO THE ANGELS OF BEAUTY. 127 

Beyond the black river, whose dark rolling waves 
Soft echoes return from the shore that it laves. 

To a land, where sweet is the spirit's repose 

As a sunbeam that sleeps on the breast of the rose; 

Where a silvery light beams bright from a sky 

On hopes that ne'er perish, and loves that ne'er die. 

Then hail! to the angels and spirits above. 
Whose home is the dwelling of sweet Beauty and Love, 
Who have chased from my soul the wild phantoms of night, . 
And my spirit have clothed in the garments of light, 

San Francisco, 1867. 



HARMONY. 



I PAINT the bright bow on the skirts of the storm; 
I give the fair maiden the grace of her form; 

I hang the bright clouds o'er the gates of the West, 
And fold the soft leaves on the rose's sweet breast. 

The garments I wear with colors are wrought 

By green leaf and flower, from the sunbeam caught. 

The sound of my voice in music is heard — 

In the sigh of the breeze, and the song of the bird. 

I dwell with bright spirits and angels above, 

And the language I speak, is the language of Love ! 

San Francisco, 1884. 



LOS AD A ; 

A MEXICAN-INDIAN TALE. 



ARGUMENT. 

Three centuries after the Conquest of Mexico by Hernando Cortez, the 
Mexican-Indian population re-conquered the country and drove the Span- 
iards from the land of their Aztec ancestors. 

This dramatic story is founded on the following historic facts : 

1. The Mexican War of Independence, which commenced in the early 
part of the present century and ended in 1822, during which many Span- 
iards were slaughtered by the Mexican-Indian population of the country. 

2. The notorious antipathy of the " Trigneno," or Mexican, towards the 
"Gachnpin,'' or Spaniard. 

3. The history of Losada, the Robber-Chief of Jalisco, who, for a long 
time, maintained a defiant war against the government of Mexico. 'Tis 
said (with what truth I know not) that, having suffered a grievous wrong 
from the owner of the estate to which he belonged as a peon, he swore 
eternal vengeance against the Spanish race, fled to the mountains, organ- 
ized a band of his countrymen, and became, as is well known, a powerful 
chief. He is, however, a modern character; and hence the story, so far as 
he is concerned, is deficient with respect to unity of time. 

All of the characters, save that of Losada, are fictitious, intended only 
to represent historic events and the habits and character of the Indian 
population of the country. 

PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

MEXICAN-INDIANS. 

LOSADA, in love with Rosita, and a Peon on the estate of Don Alorizo. 

ROLO, a gray-haired Seer, Harper, and Poet. 

AZTEC PRIEST. 

ROSITA, an Orphan Maid; foster child of Teniora, afid in love luith 

Losada. 
TEMORA, Mother of Losada. 

Youths, Maidens, and Warriors. 

SPANIARDS. 
DON ALONZO, a rich and profligate Spaniard, ozvner of the estate to 

zuhich Losada, Temora, and Rosita belong. 
DIEGO, a tool of Don Alonzo. 
PEDRO, Mayordomo on estate of Don Alonzo. 
A SERVANT. 

Commandant, and Servants of Don Alonzo. 



Scene : Mexico. 



I30 LOS AD A. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. — Dwelling of Temora 07i the estate of Don 
Alonzo. Active volcano hi the dista^ice. 

\_Enter Rolo and Temora.] 

ROLO. 

Where, Temora, is thy son Losada? 

TEMORA. 

Down in the valley, by the ruin old, 

Where the drooping willows wave 
O'er a lone and mossy grave. 

ROLO. 

I know the spot — it is his father's grave. 
Tlascala was by birth of royal blood, 
Descended from a race of ancient kings, 
Although he died a slave. 

TEMORA. 

And left his son 
A peon to the accursed stranger! 
Would, Rolo, I had died ere he was born 
To be a peon slave. 

ROLO. 

Alas, it was a fatal day 

When Aztlan's glory passed away! 

\_Chants a wild lament to the music of his harp.'] 

The sun rose red o'er the flaming mount, 
And dark rolled the clouds in the North; 

The mountain shook with the earthquake's tread, 
And hot was the breath of the South! 

The foe came down like a mountain storm. 

And fierce was the fight on the plain; 
The earth was drenched and the streams ran red 
With the crimson blood of the slain! 



LOSADA. 131 

There was weeping and wailing that night; 

No hght in the temple was seen; 
The night-bird croaked, and the wild wolf howled 

On the plain where the battle had been! 
\_Enter Chorus.l 

CHORUS. 

Alas, that the glory of Aztlan has passed, 
That her days of power are o'er, 
That the songs of her maidens and shouts of her youths 
Are heard in her valleys no more! 
Are heard in her valleys no more — 
That the songs of her maidens and shouts of her youths 
Are heard in her valleys no more! 
[RoLO changes his lame^it to a wild, prophetic cha?it.'\ 
But, hark! I hear the measured tread 
Of arm^d men to battle led! 
I see the watchfire burning bright 
On distant hill and mountain height! 
I see a wild and mountain land 
Where Aztlan's sons in battle stand! 
I see the haughty Cavalier 
Borne down before the Indian spear! 
I hear the Aztec battle-cry 
Above the groans of those who die! 

-X- -K- ^ * * « * 

The fight is o'er; from hill and plain 
Is borne a wild and thrilling strain — 
It is the song of Liberty! 
Again are Aztlan's children free! 
\_E71ter Los ADA hurriedly.'] 

LOSADA. 

Now, by yon flaming mount that lights our land, 
And by my father's honored tomb, I swear 
That I shall live to see that glorious day. 
Or die a warrior's death! 

{^Exeunt.'] 



132 LOS AD A. 

Scene II. — Valley sur^-oimded by lofty mountains. Time, 
Vernal Equinox. Occasion, Indian feast and ceremo7iies, 
welcoming the opening Spi'ing. Sim-dance. 

\_Enter Priest and chorus of youths and maidens decked 
with flowers.'] 

PRIEST. 

Oh Thou who rul'st the raging storm, 

And bidst the lofty mountains quake! 
Accept thy people's humble thanks — 
The offerings that thy children make. 
\^Makes an offering of fruit and a libation of pulque. Enter 
RosiTA dressed to represent Spring. ] 

CHORUS. 

All hail, bright Spring, who's coming now, 
With rosy cheek and sunny brow! 

ROSITA. 

I come from the land of the South; 

I 'm born of the sunbeam and shower; 
I breathe the soft airs of the morn! 

I paint the bright leaf of the flower! 

My cheek bears the bloom of the rose; 

The birds learn their love-songs from me; 
I breathe on the brows of the young. 
And their hearts are merry with glee! 
\_ All join in a tnerry dajice to the zuild music of Rolo's 
harp. Enter during the dance Alonzo afid Diego, dis- 
guised as peons.] 

alonzo {aside to Diego). 
How beautiful that Indian maiden 
Who wears the flowery garb of Spring! Some plan 
I must devise for her possession. 

\^Exeunt Alonzo and Diego.] 

CHORUS. 

Now let us all drink to the rosy-cheek'd Spring, 
While the flowers are fresh and the sunbeams are bright; 



LOS AD A. 133 

We will drink! we will drink! to the rosy-cheek' d Spring 
While our hearts are merry and our spirits are light! 

We will drink! we will drink! to the rosy-cheek'd Spring 
While our hearts are merry and our spirits are light! 
\^Each one drinks a cup of pulque i\ 



ACT IT. 

Scene I. — Room in Alonzo's house. Alonzo and 
Diego seated at a table drinking wine. 

ALONZO. 

Come, fill thy cup, Diego; drink freely! 
I need thy service, and will pay thee well, 
If thou art faithful. 

DIEGO. 

Speak, Alonzo; and I '11 obey. 

ALONZO. 

Thou saw'st the maiden at the Indian feast? 

DIEGO. 

She who was dressed to represent the Spring ? 

ALONZO. 

Aye, the same! 

DIEGO. 

What of her? 

ALONZO. 

I would have her with me ere 'tis midnight. 
Thou know'st the spring in the banana grove 
Hard by old Temora's hut ? 

DIEGO. 

Aye, I know it well! 

ALONZO. 

There, as I learn, Rosita goes alone 



134 LOS AD A. 

At twilight to fill Temora's water-jar. 
Hard by, there is a dense and leafy copse; 
There go, and lie in wait until she come. 

DIEGO. 

And then ? 

ALONZO. 

Seize and hither bring her; nor use more force 
Than may be strictly needful for that purpose. 
Thou understand'st me ? 

DIEGO. 

I do, and will obey thee. 

ALONZO. 

'Tis well; thou know'st me, Diego — I 'm generous; 
Can reward thee well — aye, and punish, too! 
This dagger's point is sharp! Remember! 

DIEGO. 

Trust me; I '11 remember — 
More than he thinks. \^Aside.'] 
[Exeunt.'] 



Scene II. — At the spring. Twilight. 

{^Enter Losada and Rosita, with water-jar.] 

ROSITA. 

Why that frown upon thy brow, Losada ? 
Art angry with me ? Come, I '11 sing to thee! 

{^Sings.] Come, Losada! let us go 

Where the wild banana grows; 

Let us go, let us go 
Where the wild banana grows! 
While the morning breeze is fresh. 
And the dew is on the rose. 

Let us go, let us go 
Where the wild banana grows! 



LOS AD A. 135 

Nay, Losada; look not thus! — Speak to me! 
Speak to Rosita! 

LOSADA. 

Rosita! 

ROSITA. 

I listen, Losada. 

LOSADA. 

Thou lov'st me, Rosita ? 

ROSITA. 

As the rosebud loves the morning sun! 
Why ask the question ? 

LOSADA. 

Know'st thou the proud Alonzo, he who claims 
This rich estate with all its peon slaves ? 

ROSITA. 

I know him not. 

LOSADA. 

Nor the murderous thief, Diego ? 

ROSITA. 

No. 

LOSADA. 

Both were at our feast, disguised as peons. 

I saw Alonzo fix his eye on thee 

As the wild hungry wolf looks on the lamb. 

He 's marked thee for his prey : I know him well; 

The fiend, Diego, will be his willing tool 

To work thy ruin! 

ROSITA. 

I fear him not. Dost thou not remember 
That once I slew a savage mountain wolf? 

LOSADA. 

Aye, Rosita! but savage mountain wolf 

Is as a lamb compared with these base villains! 



136 LOSADA. 

ROSITA. 

I fear them not — 
For I am an Indian maid, Losada, 
And bear my father's spirit. 

LOSADA. 

Aye, Rosita, I know that thou art brave, 
And will not faint at sight of blood — 
[Offers her a dagger. '\ 
Take this! it is with venom tipped, so deadly 
That, if it draw one single drop of blood. 
The wound, within an hour, is mortal. 

ROSITA. 

I need it not, Losada. 

LOSADA. 

Rosita! rememberest thou a sister 

Who, while an infant, bore thee in her arms 

As the fond mother does her new-born babe ? 

ROSITA. 

As a pleasant dream, I do remember one 
Who called me loving names; sang to me, 
And soothed me on her breast to sweet repose. 

LOSADA. 

Thy loving sister 'twas — the sweet Juanita! 
Her cheek was like the budding rose; her eye 
Was gentle as the mountain fawn's, and bright 
As the silver star that hails the coming morn. 
Aye, she was lovely as a floiver of spring ! 
Diego watched her plucking flowers for thee, 
And, with soft, deceitful words, beguiled her. 
She loved him! He for a while himself amused. 
And the7i, with laughing scorn, he cast her off! 
She sought the lake that in the valley sleeps, 
And in its peaceful bosom found repose. 

ROSITA. 

Give me the dagger! Ere to-morrow's sun 



LOSADA. 137 

Has hid his face behind the western hills, 

By its venomed point, I swear, that I will take 

Such vengeance as will make a demon quail. 

And turn the cheek of Darkness pale with horror! 

Aye; thou shalt see how an Indian maid 

Can avenge a murdered sister's wrongs. 

To thy home, Losada; I '11 fill my jar 

And follow thee. 

LOSADA. 

'Tis well. 
\^Exit Losada. Rosita stoops at the spring to fill her 
zuater-jar. Diego spritigs from the willow copse and 
carries her off.'] 



ACT III. 

Scene I. — Room in Don Alonzo's palace. Rosita 
alo7ie. 

l^Enter servant.] 



\ 



ROSITA. 

What place is this, and who has brought me hither? 

SERVANT. 

This is the palace of Don Alonzo; 
And by his orders in this room thou 'rt placed. 
And by him I 'm charged to do thy bidding. 
Is there aught that thou wouldst have ? 

ROSITA. 

Nothing. Comes your master soon ? 
servant. 

He comes anon. 

ROSITA. 

Enough! Leave me. 
\^Exit servant.] 
Now, spirit of my father, arm thy child! 
Make her tongue a dagger tipped with poison; 



138 LOS AD A. 

Give to her beaming eye the Hghtning's flash, 
That it may blast the villain's sight! 
^Enter Alonzo, heated luith wine, and singing. 1 
Indian maiden, list to me! 
I will make a queen of thee, 
Slaves to thee shall bow the knee 

And obey thy slightest will. 
The richest garments shall be thine; 
Brightest jewels of the mine; 
Thy drink shall be the rosy wine, 

Of pleasure, thou shalt have thy fill — 
Then, give thy heart and hand to me, 
And let us now right happy be! 

ROSITA. 

Touch me, and by my father's soul, I swear 
I '11 drive this dagger to thy polluted heart 
And send thy drunken soul to its account! 
For sooner would I to my bosom take 
A slimy toad, than have thee touch my hand. 
Away! Away! Touch me at thy peril! 

ALONZO. 

'Tis well; I '11 give thee time to change thy mind. 
I '11 keep the wild bird caged till it will sing! {^Aside.'\ 
lExit.'\ 



-Scene II. — Temora's dwelling. Night. 
l^Enter Temora.] 

TEMORA. 

Oh, sad is the heart of Temora! 

Oh, weary, oh, weary and sad! 
For gone are the days of her youth, 

And her spirit no more will be glad. 
No more! no more! no more! 

And her spirit no more will be glad. 



LOSADA. 139 

The flowers will return in the spring, 
And the sunshine when the tempest is o'er; 

But the joys and the hopes of her youth 
Will return to Temora no more. 
No more! no more! no more! 
Will return to Temora no more. 

{^Enter Losada.] 

LOSADA. 

Why sing'st thou a song so sad, mother? 

TEMORA. 

I was thinking of the past, Losada; 

Of the weary past, and my heart was heavy. 

Hast thou seen Rosita ? 

LOSADA. 

Aye, mother; an hour or more ago 

I left her at the spring to fill her jar; 

But she tarries long, and I 'm uneasy 

Lest something foul has now to her befall'n. 

Hast seen a stranger lurking near our house ? 

TEMORA. 

I, from the window, saw a bearded man, 

Who, with stealthy step, approached the leafy copse 

Hard by the spring. 

LOSADA. 

How long since you saw him, mother ? 

TEMORA. 

Just as the spirit of the day departed. 

LOSADA. 

Describe his looks and dress! 

TEMORA. 

Dark, curling hair; wicked, wolfish eyes; 
Armed, and clothed in garb of Caballero. 

LOSADA. 

'Tis he — the black and doubly damned assassin! 
^Tis Diego, the murderer of Juanita, 



I40 LOS AD A. 

Who now has seized and borne away Rosita! 
But, by my father's soul, I'll have revenge! 

TEMORA. 

Alas! Alas! My heart is broke, Losada! 

\_Enter Rolo, bearing an empty water jar.'\ 
Rolo, the wolf has robbed me of my lamb! 



Hard by the spring I found this empty jar. 

Near which I marked the signs of recent struggle. 

TEMORA. 

'Tis Rosita's! Alas, would I had died 
Ere I had lived to see this bitter day! 
But no; I must not — cannot — will not die 
Until I 've had revenge! — till I have quenched 
My burning hate in blood! 

Away, Losada! 
Nor let me see thy face till thou canst bring 
The murderer's quivering heart, that I may slake 
My vengful hate in its accursed blood! 

LOSADA. 

Mother! 

TEMORA. 

Away! away at once and do my bidding. 
Or take a mother's curse! 

LOSADA, 

Enough! I go for vengance! 
\_Exit.-\ 

TEMORA. 

Oh, sad is the heart of Temora! 

Oh, weary, oh, weary and sad! 
For gone are the days of her youth, 

And her spirit no more will be glad. 

ROLO. 

And her spirit no more will be glad. 



LOS AD A. 141 

TEMORA. 

The flowers will return in the spring, 

And the sunshine when the tempest is o'er; 

But the joys and the hopes of her youth 
Will return to Temora no more. 

ROLO. 

Will return to Temora no more. 
\_Exeunt.'\ 



Scene III. — Room in Don Alonzo's palace. Rosita 
alone. {Same as Scene I.) 

ROSITA. 

'Tis the hour of midnight, yet no one comes. 
\^Dracus a dagger from her bosom.'] 
One friend I have, at least, who'll not forsake me! 
The tyrant doubtless sleeps a drunken sleep — 
Let him come! the Indian maiden fears him not; 
She hears her father's angry voice, and feels 
His vengeful spirit on her. 

\^A voice outside singing. ] 

Come, Rosita! let us go 
Where the wild banana grows; 
While the morning breeze is fresh. 
And the dew is on the rose! 

Let us go, let us go 
Where the wild banana grows! 

ROSITA. 

Hark! 't is Losada's voice — 
I know it well. 

[Rosita answers.] 
Soon, Losada, I will be 

Where the wild banana grows; 
Where the morning breeze is fresh, 
And the dew is on the rose! 



142 LOSADA. 

Where the morning breeze is fresh. 
And the dew is on the rose! 



Now, by his love, Losada swears, 

No sleep his eyes shall close 
Till on his throbbing breast shall lie 

His own sweet mountain rose! 

And woe to him, whose ruthless hand 
Shall touch the virgin breast! 

Whose breath shall soil the rosy cheek 
Losada's lips have pressed! 

His. fiery vengeance, like his love. 
One moment shall not sleep, 

But fann'd by fiercest flames of hate 
Shall burning vigils keep! 

Then, let Rosita's heart be brave. 

And trust the hate and love 
That soon shall break the bars that cage 

Losada's mountain dove. 

He 's gathering his men 
In mountain and glen; 
Their lances are long — 
Their bow-strings are strong — 
Then let Rosita trust Losada's love! 



Scene IV. — A tnoimtam valley. 

[^«^^r RoLO.] 
ROLO {chanting to the music of his harp).. 
No more shall Rolo's sounding harp. 

In trembling accents low. 
Bid him pour out his mournful notes 

In wailing songs of woe. 
No longer by his aged eyes 
Shall bitter tears be shed; 



LOSADA. 

No longer shall he weep and sigh 

O'er Aztlan's glories fled. 
[//<? changes his rhythm into a luild chant of delight.'} 
He now feels in his soul 

That the storm-cloud has passed — 
That the sunshine has come 

To his country at last! 
For he touches the chords 

And a wild music rings 
That echoes the songs 

That proud Victory sings! 
And he feels in his soul 

That the night has now passed — 
That the sunshine has come 

To his country at last! 
\_Enter Losada ajid warriors.} 

LOSADA. 

Sons of Aztlan's ancient race! 

Ye who for the tyrant toil! 
Ye who long have sighed and wept 

Here upon your native soil — 

Let us rise, and stand like men! 

No longer let us bow the knee; 
Let us by our fathers swear 

That again we shall be free! 

The heart-broke mother's weeping now;. 

The helpless maiden 's torn away 
By ruthless hand and brutal force 

To make a tyrant's holiday! 
{To RoLO.) 
Gray -haired Rolo! tell us now 

What our future fate shall be: 
Shall Aztlan's sons still meekly bow 

To tyrant lords the slavish knee? 

ROLO. 

The eagle is sharpening his beak — 
The vulture is waiting the day,. 



143- 



144 LOSADA. 

When the field of battle shall give 
The flesh of the slaughtered for prey! 

The eagle his talons shall bathe 

In the fresh, warm blood of the slain; 

The vulture shall gorge on the dead 
That fall on mountain and plain! 

LOSADA. 

Then, sons of the mountain, now kneel. 
And swear by the graves of the dead. 

That in the cause of our people oppressed 
The best of our blood shall be shed! 

CHORUS. 

We swear by the dead — 

By the hearts that have bled — 

By the tears we have shed — 

LOSADA. 

That we'll strike like the bolt 
That falls from the cloud. 

When the tempest is raging 
And the thunder is loud! 

CHORUS. 

That we '11 fight on the field. 
With spear and with shield, 
Nor in death will we yield 
'Till our country is free! 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. — Rooin in Alonzo's palace. Rosita alone. 

\_Enter Diego, singing.'\ 

DIEGO. 

Indian maiden, fly with me 
Where the mountain breeze is free, 
Where the crystal streamlet flows 
By the blooming mountain rose. 



LOS AD A. 145 

Alonzo's passion fiercely burns — 
Fly with me ere he returns — 
I '11 take thee to a mountain glen 
Far from the haunts of wicked men. 

ROSiTA {aside). 
'T is the murderer of Juanita — Demons of hate, 
Now aid me in mine act of vengeance fierce! 

{_Sings.'\ The Indian maid will give her hand 
And fly with thee to any land, 
No matter where, so she can be 
Like the mountain breezes free! 
If, from thine arm thou 'It let her take 
One crimson drop, with which to make 
A mystic symbol that shall be 
A bond of faith 'twixt her and thee. 

DIEGO. 

By San Pedro, a strange demand! Why make it? 

ROSITA. 

'Tis a form of oath among our people 
Which no one dares to violate. 

DIEGO. 

I 've nought with which to draw the crimson drop. 

ROSITA. 

Here, I have this dagger — the point is sharp! 
Take it thyself and use it. 
[Diego takes the dagger atid makes a slight wound on 
his ar'm.l 

DIEGO. 

k There — 

'T is done; now make the sign as you desire 
And let us haste away. 
[RosiTA traces o?i her arm the figure of a serpent.^ 

ROSITA. 

If thou shalt play me false, may this become 
A living serpent in thy perjured heart! 



I 



[46 LOS A DA. 

DIEGO. 

Haste, maiden, haste! I fear Alonzo comes. 

ROSITA. 

Hold! Ere we go, a story I '11 relate: 
Rememberest thou an Indian maiden young, 
Who the name of Juanita bore ? 

DIEGO. 

Some remembrance have I of such an one — 
She was young and beautiful, was she not ? 

ROSITA. 

Aye, as the mountain rose! 

DIEGO. 

What of her ? 

ROSITA. 

She was, by blood, my sister; but in love 

A mother! for she nursed me with a mother's care,. 

And oft have I upon her bosom slept. 

DIEGO. 

Let us leave this place; I 'm feeling ill! 

ROSITA. 

Nay, wait till I have done, and then we '11 go. 
That Indian maiden you betrayed, Diego; 
Betrayed with lying words her trusting heart — 
And then, with laughing scorn, you cast her off. 
By her own act she died — but heaven is just/ 

DIEGO. 

What deadly spell is this that now is on me ? 

I 'm faint — my sight grows dim— my burning blood 

Seems like a liquid fire. Quick! give me water! 

ROSITA. 

K^o cooling drop can quench the burning fire 
That now consumes thy black and perjured heart — 
Thou art poisoned f Within an hour thou diest! 
No power on earth can save thy accursed life. 
Thus I 've avenged Juanita's cruel wrongs! 



LOS AD A. uj 

DIEGO. 

Mercy! Mercy! Holy Virgin, save me! 

ROSITA. 

Aye, call for mercy on thy coward soul, 
Which ne'er has known of aught but cruelty. 

Thou, 
Who trod upon a bleeding heart and laughed — 
Mercy! 

DIEGO. 

Oh, let me to a holy priest confess. 
Or my immortal soul is lost forever! 

ROSITA. 

No; die accursed ! and may thy filthy soul 
Be doomed to dwell 'mid fiery, hissing serpents, 
Where crawling worms shall thy companions be, 
While tears of blood shall blind thy burning eyes! 
Yes, die accursed! and in thy memory bear 
The bitterest curse an Indian maid can give. 
[Diego dies. Exit Rosita.] 



Scene II. — Another room in Don Alonzo's palace. 
\^Enter Don Alonzo and servant.'\ 

ALONZO. 

Why that frightened look? Hast done my bidding? 
Does the wild mountain cat still show her teeth ? 
Speak! What ails thee, fool? 

SERVANT. 

Honored sir! 
The Indian girl has fled, and 

ALONZO. 

Fled? How, and where? The dove was guarded well! 



148 LOSADA. 

SERVANT. 

The room I entered, and found an open door 
I ne'er had marked before; and on the floor 
Lay the warm body of Diego, as though 
But lately dead. But his face— oh, heaven! 
Bore such a look as makes me shudder still. 

ALONZO {aside). 

The secret door — of which 
No one knew save Diego and myself. 

( To servant. ) 

Marked thou any wound 
Upon the body, or blood upon the floor ? 
Or anything to indicate a death 
From other cause than natural ? 

SERVANT. 

I marked no blood upon the floor. 
But I perceived a scratch upon his arm, 
As though an angry cat had struck its claws 
Into his flesh. 

ALONZO {aside). 

Poisoned! 
[^Enter Pedro, hurriedly. '\ 
What is it, Pedro, that brings thee in such haste 
At this untimely hour ? 

PEDRO. 

The peons have all to the mountains fled! 
Save old Temora, the mother of Losada. 

ALONZO. 

Hast questioned her? 

PEDRO. 

Aye, your honor. 

ALONZO. 

What answer did she make ? 



LOSADA. 149 

PEDRO. 

None; save in language of her native tongue, 
Which seemed like bitter curses. 

ALONZO. 

Hast lately marked among the peons aught 
Of suspicious import ? 

PEDRO. 

For several nights upon the mountain peaks 

I 've seen strange lights, and whisperings have I heard 

Among the people. 

ALONZO. 

Go tell the Commandant I would see him — 
And bring before me old Temora. 

PEDRO. 

And if she refuse to come ? 

ALONZO. 

Then bind her, hand and foot, and bring her thus — 
I '11 teach these serfs they have a master! 



ACT V. 
Scene I, — Don Alonzo's palace. Don Alonzo alone. 

[Enter Commandant afid servants with Temora.] 

ALONZO. 

Where, Temora, is thy son Losada ? 
temora. 
Go ask the mountain wind! 

ALONZO. 

Where is the Indian girl they call Rosita ? 

temora. 
Does the savage wolf ask the bleating ewe 
Where is the helpless lamb he has devoured ? 



ISO LOS AD A. 

ALONZO. 

Dost thou know to whom thou speakest ? 

TEMORA. 

I know thee well, and do not fear thy power. 

ALONZO. 

If thou wouldst not feel my power, then tell me 
Where is the maiden and thy son Losada ? 

TEMORA. 

Son of a thrice accursed race, 

Temora tells thee to thy face, 

That she'll to darkest dungeon go 

Ere aught of them from her thou 'It know. 

And more : in darkest dungeon's gloom, 

Or in the blackest realms of doom. 

Where dwells the vilest, loathsome thing — 

Where demons howl, and vipers sting, — 

Her burning scorn and vengeful hate 

Y or thee Sind thine -w'lW not ahalQl 

But, mark me, fool! — I tell thee now. 

With quivering lip and pallid brow 

I'll see thee beg on bended knee 

Thy base and coward life of me. 

For the pale star of weeping 

Has sunk in the West, 
And the red star of battle 

Now flames in the East! 

ALONZO. 

Away to prison with the filthy hag! 

TEMORA. 

Back, cowards! 
Touch but one hair of old Temora's head. 
And ere to-morrow's sun the starving wolf 
Will tear from off your bones the quivering flesh! 
This dagger's point more deadly is than viper's sting- 

l^Draws from her bosom a dagger. '\ 
Ha! well may ye all tremble, coward slaves! 



LOS AD A. 151 

For the red star of battle 
Now flames in the East! 
\ All fall back, cowering before Temora's vengeful maledic- 
tions. Enter Pedro hastily.'] 

PEDRO. 

Don Alonzo, we 're surrounded by a host 
Of hostile Indians, by Losada led! 

TEMORA. 

Ha, ha, ha! 

The red star of battle 
Now flames in the East! 



Scene II. — Losada's Camp. 

{^Enter Losada, Rolo, and India^i warriors.] 
losada. 
Indian warriors! now we stand 
Like freemen on our native land; 
The tyrant's rule of power is o'er, 
The peon slave shall weep no more. 

ROLO. 

We '11 weep on the mountain no more, 
Nor bend our bare necks to the yoke; 

No more in the valley we'll sigh 
Till our hearts with sorrow are broke! 

The days of our weeping are o'er; 

The time of our mourning is past; 
The sunlight of freedom has dawned 

On our long-suflering country at last! 
\^Enter Rosita dressed as a warrior.] 

ROSITA. 

Now the rosy dawn is breaking. 

Now the golden morn is waking 

From her dewy couch to greet 

The sun of Libertv! 



152 LOSADA. 

CHORUS. 

Hail to the morn, and hail to the day 
That chase the gloom and darkness away! 

LOSADA. 

Ah, Rosita! 

ROSITA. 

Aye, 'tis Rosita. 

LOSADA. 

How 'scaped the dove the claws of the vulture ? 

ROSITA. 

The heart of the maiden was brave; 
The point of the dagger she gave! 
The vulture rots beneath the tree; 
The mountain dove again is free! 

CHORUS. 

Hail, maid of the mountain! 

We now give to thee 
The love of the brave 

And the smiles of the free! 

ROSITA. 

Our mother, Losada ? 

LOSADA. 

Is still at home, in the banana grove. 

ROSITA. 

No; she 's in Alonzo's power, Losada. 

Disguised, I 've watched him as the sharp-eye'd lynx 

Watches its prey. I saw her dragged before him! 

LOSADA. 

Perdition seize him! I '11 away at once 
To her relief. 

ROLO. 

Hold, Losada! Alonzo will not harm her— 
I will from thee a message bear. 



LOS A DA. 153 



'Tis well; Losada to Alonzo says: 
'' That if aught of harm befall Temora 
While in Alonzo's power she doth remain, 
Alonzo's naked body shall be bound 
And placed where fierce the summer sunbeams fall, 
And there shall He, until his rotting flesh 
Shall be devoured by filthy, crawling worms. 
And, shouldst thou not within an hour return, 
And with thee bring the body of Alonzo, 
Before yon crescent moon has sunk behind 
The western hills, to flame and slaughter red 
Losada gives the proud Alonzo's house." 
Go, and tell him that thus Losada speaks! 
Go, and with thee take our bravest warriors 
To enforce this order of Losada. 

\^Exeunt i?i different directions.'] 



Scene IIL — Alonzo's pa/ace. Truoy^k before Alonzo, 
guarded by his servants. {Same as Scene I.) 



t 



ALONZO. 

Now speak, accursed hag! and tell me all 
Of this uprising of thy peon race; 
And where thy son Losada can be found, 
And where the Indian maid they call Rosita. 
Now tell me this, or to the rack thou goest— 
Say, wilt thou speak ? — 



No! by the fierce god of battle, no! 

Temora to the rack will go. 

Will pass through fire; on embers lie; 

And like a wounded wolf will die. 

Ere thou, or any of thy race, 

From her shall learn their dwelling-place. 

But this I '11 say, on bended knee 

I '11 see thee beg thy life of me! 



154 LOSADA. 

For the red star of battle 

Burns bright in the East! 
\_Enter servant (^Z" Alonzo.] 

SERVANT, 

A gray-haired harper at the door awaits, 
And converse seeks to hold with Don Alonzo! 

ALONZO. 

Bid him enter! 
\^Exii servant. Re-enter servant with Rolo.] 

ALONZO. 

What with me wouldst thou have, old man ? 

ROLO. 

I bring to thee a message from Losada. 

ALONZO. 

Ah, from my serf and peon slave, Losada! 

Pray, what message may the scoundrel send me ? 

ROLO. 

Losada to Alonzo this message sends: 
" That if aught of harm befall Temora 
While in Alonzo's power she doth remain, 
Alonzo's naked body shall be bound 
And placed where fierce the summer sunbeams fall, 
And there shall lie, until his rotting flesh 
Shall be devoured by filthy, crawling worms. 
And, should Rolo not within an hour return. 
And with him bring the body of Alonzo, 
Before yon crescent moon has sunk behind 
The western hills, to flame and slaughter red 
Losada gives the proud Alonzo's house!" 
Thus did Losada speak, 

ALONZO {to servants). 
Seize the drivelling dotard and bind him fast! 

[Alonzo's serva?iis attempt to arrest Rolo, who blows a 
whistle, when several Indian wartdors rush in armed 
with mechetes {long knives), overpower Alonzo's ser- 
vants, and seize Alonzo.] 



LOS A DA. 155 

ROLO. 

Come! or, like a felon bound, I '11 take thee! 

For by Losada shalt thou now be judged. 

Nay, struggle not — these Indian knives are sharp; 

One word from me will end thy tyrant life. 

Come! for the storm of vengeance soon will break! 

Come! and from Losada beg protection! 

TEMORA. 

I told thee, tyrant, I would see 
Thee beg thy coward life of me! 
[ Exeunt. ] 



Scene IV. — Camp of Losada. 

\^Enter Losada, Indian warriors, and Priest.] 

LOSADA. 

Friends, we await the coming of Alonzo — 
The message sent by Rolo him will bring. 
Speak now, and say what his award shall be! 
For proud Alonzo now is in our power. 

CHORUS. 

The long night has passed; 

The morn comes again 
To shed its soft light 

On mountain and plain — 
Then let Alonzo go, 

And leave his palace grand. 
And never more return 

To our wild mountain land! 

LOSADA. 

T' is well; but see, Alonzo comes! 
[Enter Rolo, Temora, atid Alonzo, guarded by warriors.] 

LOSADA. 

^ What says Alonzo now ? The Indian chief 
■ Is master here, and now thv doom can fix. 

I 



156 LOS AD A. 

What thinks he now his doom should be, 
As an atonement for the wrongs he 's done 
To the oppressed and downtrod Indian race? 

ALONZO. 

I know that I 'm in Losada's power, 
But I 'm of the hidalgos' noble blood 
And cannot beg; therefore let Losada 
Do his will. 

LOSADA, 

Losada long has been Alonzo's slave. 

And knows him well; has often felt his power. 

And bitter curses oft has breathed against him, 

Losada ne'er forgets a wrong, nor ever yet 

Forgot an act of kindness; he remembers well 

That once Alonzo interposed his power 

To save Losada from most cruel torture; 

Aye, from the bitter lash! Losada ne'er forgets 

A kindness done. 

(Tb Temora.) 
Speak, mother, and tell me now 
What shall the sentence of Alonzo be ? 

TEMORA. 

Rosita is safe! Diego is dead! 
My anger appeased with the blood that is shed; 
The red star of battle has sunk in the West, 
The bright star of peace now shines in the East; 
The vulture has fled to the mountains away I 
The eagle no longer awaits for its prey! 

Let Alonzo go towards the rising sun, 
And ne'er return to Aztlan's mountain land. 

LOSADA. 

'T is well; 
Now let the proud Alonzo go 

And seek in other lands, 
A home he never more can find 

Where now his palace stands. 

\^E7ite7' RosiTA.] 



LOS A DA. 157 

ROSITA. 

And when again, by force or guile, 

He seeks an Indian maid, 
Let him beware the vengeful hand 

That holds the dagger's blade! 

S^Exit Alonzo.] 

ROLO. 

Now light the teocali 

And sound the loud drum! 
The son of Tlascala, 

Our savior, has come! 
No more shall we wait. 

No more shall we dream, 
And sigh for his coming 

By mountain and stream — 
The sunlight of peace 

Now shines in the East, 
The cloud and the storm 

Have sunk in the West. 

PRIEST. 

O Thou who rul'st the raging storm. 
And bidst the howling tempest cease, 

We thank Thee for the rising sun 
That brings the gentle beams of peace! 

CHORUS. 

We 'II light the teocali 

And sound the loud drum! 
The son of Tlascala, 

Our savior, has come! 
Rejoice, ye loud storms 

That roar in the East! 
Rejoice, ye wild winds 

That sing in the West! 
The temples of Tixtlan 

Again shall we light! 
The altars of Aztlan 

Again shall be bright! 



158 LOS A DA. 

So rejoice, ye wild winds 

That sing in the West! 
And rejoice, ye loud storms 

That roar in the East! 
The temples of Tixtlan 

Again shall we light! 
The altars of Aztlan 

Again shall be bright! 
[Ej^eunt all except Losada and Rosita.] 

LOSADA. 

Now, Rosita, we will go 
Where the wild banana grows; 

We will go, we will go 
Where the wild banana grows! 
While the morning breeze is fresh, 
And the dew is on the rose; 

We will go, we will go 
Where the wild banana grows! 

ROSITA. 

Yes, Losada, we will go 
Where the wild banana grows; 
Where the wild flowers sweetly bloom^ 
And the crystal streamlet flows; 
While the morning breeze is fresh, 
And the dew is on the rose! 

We will go, we will go 
Where the crystal streamlet flows. 
And the wild banana grows! 

BOTH {retiring from the stage). 

Let us go, let us go 
Where the wild banana grows; 
While the morning breeze is fresh, 
And the dew is on the rose! 

Let us go, let us go 
While the morning breeze is fresh,. 
And the dew is on the rose! 
\^Exeunt.'\ 

Tucson, Arizona, 1879. 



MAN'S HERITAGE OF FREEDOM. 



Delivered by Mr. John McCullough at the California Theatre, 
San Francisco, July 4, 1869. 

Bright inspiration on my spirit fell — 

And by its beaming light, 

I glanced adown the misty past 

O'er which eternal ages sweep; 
I saw the curtaining clouds of gloom 

Which hung o'er Nature's primal sleep; 

I heard the earthquake's rumbling tread; 

I heard the thunder's voice of ire; 
And saw the brow of night grow pale 

Beneath the lightning's baleful fire. 

Anon, I heard a silvery voice 

Ring sweetly through the realms of night; 

It bade the sound of discord cease 
Before the coming beams of light! 

I saw the rosy hues of morn 
Dawn softly o'er the new-born earth; 

I heard the stars of morning sing 
Sweet anthems o'er the beauteous birth. 

Then, lo! Creative Wisdom spake, 
And order fixed where chaos was; 

It bade the warring spirits yield 
To Nature's deep, harmonious laws. 

Long ages past — to measure which 
Is far beyond the loftiest thought; 

And still fair Wisdom's ends divine 
The secret laws of Nature wrought.. 



i6o MAN'S HERITAGE OF FREEDOM. 

They dug the silent ocean caves, 
And fixed the everlasting rock; 

Earth's dark and deep foundations laid, 
Which mock the earthquake's rending shock! 

As o'er the earth the ages rolled, 
Bright verdure on her bosom grew; 

The leafy poplar kissed the breeze, 
The rosebud drank the morning dew! 

Again, Creative Wisdom spake — 
And thus, the mighty fiat ran: 
" Now let the noblest work be made, 
And let that crowning work be Man! 

" Give him bright Reason for his guide! 

Let him be ever proud and free! 

Make him the lord of all the earth. 

And monarch of the rolling sea! 

" Then let him take his heritage, 

The heritage that makes him free! 
And let him, like the eagle proud, 
Exult in glorious Uberty! 

" Let him command the raging storm, 
And clip the lightning's fiery wing; 
And force the earth and bid the sea 
To him their richest treasures bring." 

The Voice Creative ceased — when lo! 

I saw a goddess fair and bright 
Descending from a radiant sphere 

Robed in the rosiest beams of light. 

I knew her by her shining helm, 

And by the glance that beamed on me; 

And by her burnished shield, I knew 
The guardian fair of Liberty! 

Historic ages rolled along, 
Unfolding man's progressive life; 



I 



I 



MAN'S HERITAGE OF FREEDOM. i6r 

Portraying many a scene of love, 
And many a bloody field of strife. 

But still I saw bright Freedom stand 

All radiant in her glorious might; 
Resisting still aggressive wrong, 

And batthng in the cause of right. 

I heard the deep and mournful wail 

That floated o'er the Grecian sea 
When Spartan heroes vainly fought 

And died at old Thermopylae. 

I heard the bitter curse she gave 

The banner that the legions bore 
When Roman despots ruled the world 

And drenched the earth with human gore. 

I saw her draw the shining blade — 
Bid Brutus strike the avenging blow 

That checked Ambition's vaulting pride 
And laid the Imperial Caesar low. 

On old Palmyra's marble waste, 

Sad, bitter tears I saw her shed 
O'er many a broken column there. 

Which told of ancient glories fled. 

I saw her weep by Plato's tomb. 
And Virgil's grave, and where the breeze 

Soft music made around the spot 
Where sleeps the dust of Socrates. 

Beneath Corruption's withering breath 
Bright Freedom's empire passed away; 

And where she once in glory stood, 
Her temples all in ruin lay. 

Aye! the classic ages passed away — 
The rude, untutored Northmen came; 

And Grecian grace and Roman pride 
Were given to the sword and flame. 



:62 MAN'S HERITAGE OF FREEDOM. 

The laurel-tree all lonely stands, 
The drooping willows sadly weep, 

And crumbling ruins mark the spot 
Where Freedom's classic glories sleep! 

But still a deathless fame is left, 
And on the bright, historic page, 

Are writ in characters of light 
Stern lessons to a future age. 

Mediaeval ages came and passed. 
And Freedom sought another land! 

A beauteous land, whose virgin breast 
Had ne'er been touched by tyrant's hand. 

I saw her on the granite hills; 

I saw her by wide-rolling floods; 
I saw her on the sunny plains, 

And in the dark, majestic woods. 

Wide, wide she roamed the smiling land, 
From northern mountains clad with snow 

To where the sunny skies are bright 
And soft the southern breezes blow. 

From where New England's pine-clad hills 
Fhng back the sound of ocean's roar 

To where the western billows roll 
And break upon a golden shore. 

I marked her beaming eye of pride; 

The smile upon her lips that played; 
I saw her bosom swell with hope 

As she this beauteous land surveyed. 

What heard she then? Right well, I ween,. 

She heard the tread of coming feet. 
And with prophetic vision bright 

She saw the bannered millions meet. 

She looked along the path of Time, 
And saw her banners kiss the breeze; 



MAN'S HERITAGE OF FREEDOM. 

She saw them spread o'er hill and plain, 
And floating o'er the roUing seas. 

She saw in this wide-spreading land 
A dwelling for the proud and free; 

Where all her sons might find repose 
Beneath the stars of Liberty ! 

Still onward rolled the circling years — 
The wing of Time sped onward still; 

And in progressive changes wrought, 
Bright Freedom saw her hopes fulfil. 

She saw great cities proudly stand 
Where once the wild beast made his den; 

On what was once a desert spot, 
She heard the echoing tread of men. 

She saw wide fields of waving corn 
Where once primeval forests stood; 

She saw rich Commerce spread her wings 
Far o'er the ocean's rolling flood. 

She saw the forked lightning made 
Subservient to man's towering mind. 

And, at his bidding, do his will 
With speed that leaves the light behind. 

And now, to-day, with beaming eye 
She glances o'er her empire wide, 

Whose bounds are by the Arctic snows 
And by the equatorial tide. 

Then, let her sons, with one accord. 
Now swear to guard that empire well; 

Remembering how in bygone days 
The pride of ancient nations fell. 

San Francisco, July 2, 1S69. 



THE WANDERING GHOST OF A MISER. 



" Doomed, for a certain term, to walk the nigJit ; 
And, for the day, confined to fast in fires. 
Till the foul crimes, done in tny days of nature, 
Are bur7it and purged away." — "Hamlet." 

By the silent shore of a river dark, 

Sat a boatman old in a wizard bark — 

A ferryman he was, whose skiff carried o'er 

Those who journeyed to the farther shore. 

A lone traveller came, aweary and old, 
And bearing what seemed a burden of gold- 
His voice the sleeping echoes woke. 
As to the boatman thus he spoke : 

'Haste, boatman, haste! your skiff unmoor. 
And bear me o'er the tide, 
That I before the darkness fall, 
May reach the other side." 

Then sternly spake the boatman old, 
And said : " I first would know 

What is the burden that you bear, 
That makes you stoop so low? " 

" 'Tis red, red gold! " the traveller said, 
"And gems and jewels rare. 
Which I have gained by weary toil. 
Through many a weary year," 

" I cannot row you o'er the wave 
With this, your golden store; 
For ingot never yet was borne 
Unto the other shore. 

" But leave your gold, and bring with you 
Whatever you have won 



THE WANDERING GHOST OF A MISER. 165 

As a reward from Charity, 
For deeds of kindness done." 

" I cannot leave my precious gold! 
'T is all that I have won! 
For Charity I 've never known, 
Nor deeds of kindness done." 

" Then you can 't cross this mystic stream. 
Nor reach the other strand; 
For nought hwX. gentle memories live 
In that bright, beauteous land. 

" So take your gold, and get you gone! 
Exchange it, if you can, 
For memory of some good you 've done 
To some poor fellow-man. 

" And then return, and with such freight 
I 'II safely bear you o'er, 
And you may have a pleasant time 
Upon the other shore." 

The boat disappeared — the boatman was gone — 
Alone on the shore stood the dark doomed one; 
His cheek it was pale and haggard with fear, 
For the words of the wizard still rung in his ear. 

Then dark were the clouds that gathered in gloom. 
And hot were the hissings that whispered of doom. 
And fierce were the lightnings that flashed o'er his head, 
And bitter the tears of remorse that he shed. 

But ere he was lost in the gloom of despair, 
The loud thunders ceased — an angel was there 
With a bright, shining face, who pointed on high 
To a soft-beaming star in the desolate sky! 

The angel's voice was sweet; the while 
Upon his lips there played a smile. 
As on the sad one's drooping head 
He laid a gentle hand, and said : 



i66 THE WANDERING GHOST OF A MISER. 

" I cannot bid you not to sigh 
O'er what is past and now gone by; 
If I could bid your memory sleep, 
Then might I bid you not to weep. 

" But I may bid you not despair, 
(Though you 've a heavy lot to bear) — 
Yet still, at long and bitter cost, 
You may regain what you have lost. 

" If summer harvest man would reap, 
Strict watch in springtime he must keep; 
And he who looks for autumn corn 
Must not neglect the summer morn! 

" Kind Nature ever shows a cause 
For her benign and beauteous laws; 
And if infracted they should be, 
Nought can avert the penalty. 

** Come listen now, with patient ear, 
While I your life recount; 
And at the Bar of Conscience, you 
Shall now alone account : 

" You 've passed a long, laborious life, 
A life of toil and care, 
But ne'er have dried the orphan's tear, 
Nor heard the widow's prayer. 

*' You ' ve toiled for gold and nought beside ; 
You 've wrought for self alone — 
For generous thoughts you 've never felt. 
Nor gentle mercies shown. 

"You 've wrought ior gold, and gold have won ; 
For all your toil so hard, 
These glittering gems and golden dust 
Are now your sole reward! 

**So, then, pass judgment on yourself— 
And say, (as sure you must), 



THE WANDERING GHOST OF A MISER. 167 

If now this heavy lot you bear 
Is not most strictly just! 

" But go, and with an honest heart 
Your erring steps retrace; 
Drive Avarice from your heart, and give 
Sweet Charity a place. 

" 'T is hard, I know, in hoary age 
To learn the task of youth, 
And long it may be ere you find 
The pleasant paths of Truth : 

*' But help, there's fione ! for, by the law. 
You must yourself redeem, 
By penance such as in your eyes 
May meet with justice seem. 

" And, when your conscience to yourself 
Has absolution given, 
Return — and you will surely find 
An easy way to heaven! " 

The angel ceased speaking — his mission was done; 
Alone on the shore stood the dark, doomed one; 
His cheek it was pale, but the tear in his eye 
Told not of the " worm that never shall die." 

The gloom of despair had passed from his brow — 
The sunlight of hope lay soft on it now; 
Though he sighed with regret o'er what he had lost. 
He bowed to his idX^^fcfr he feltit was just. 

A weary lot that lone one had, 

A weary lot, I ween. 
To travel back with with self-reproach 

To many an earthly scene: 

When the red meteor gleamed. 
And the polar fight streamed. 
The swain to his cottage returning 



1 68 THE WANDERING GHOST OF A MISER. 

Belated at night, 
Oft saw a pale light 
In the churchyard dimly burning; 

And heard a deep sigh, 

As the blast swept by, 
When the wehr-wolf abroad was prowling, 

And a low, sad wail 

On the wild, shrieking gale, 
When the winds of autumn were howling. 

And in the lone dell, 

(As old gossips tell), 
The shepherd, as his watch he was keeping, 

Oft heard all around 

A deep, sobbing sound. 
As of some one bitterly weeping. 

And amid ruins old, 

All covered with mould, 
Where the owl in the ivy was hiding. 

In the moonbeams bright 

A form clothed in white 
Was often seen silently gliding. 

And in the grim night, 

When no stars were in sight. 
And the blast was fitful and gusty, 

And shutters that hung 

Creaked loud as they swung 
On hinges that were broken and rusty, — 

The watcher who kept 

A vigil where slept 
Some one that was wasting and dying, 

Turned pale at the sight 

Of a soft -beaming light 
By the bed where the sick one was lying. 

'T was that spirit, I ween, 
That so often was seen 
When sadly the night winds were moaning, 



THE WANDERING GHOST OF A MISER. 169 

That with tears in its eyes, 
And with deep, broken sighs, 
For the sins of earth was atoning. 

But- 
All things to time must break or bend; 
The longest day will have an end; 
And heaviest debts at last are paid 
By compensation fully made. 

So— 
When summers long had come and gone, 
And many circling years had run, 
No more in dell and haunted glen 
That wandering ghost was seen again. 

For — 
It had paid its last debt; 

It had crossed o'er the river; 
It had squared all accounts — 

It was at rest, 2Mdi forever. 

San Francisco, 1S70. 



LAMENT OF THE GUARDIAN OF EARTH. 



I SAW in my dreams the Guardian of Earth — 
The genius that cradled the orb at its birth; 
Her voice in lament through the bright ether rung, 
And this was the song that sadly she sung: 

■' Ye oflfspring of Earth! Ye children of Time! 
Oh, why will ye tread the pathways of crime? 
Oh, why will ye turn from the fountains of Light 
To grope in the gloom and darkness of Night? 

" I 've clothed the green Earth with plant and with tree; 
I 've hung the blue arch o'er the wide-rolling sea; 
I 've sown the broad fields, I 've planted the vine, 
And filled the fresh fountains with milk and with wine. 

" The breath of the Morn, I bid it to fan 
The bosom of Earth for the comfort of man; 
The lightning and storm, I bid them to sweep 
The dark, reeking corners where foul vapors sleep. 

" I bid the soft light of the sunbeam to play 

On the brow of the Morn, at the birth of the Day; 
And I hang the curtains of eve at its close. 
Around the soft couch of Nature's repose. 

*' I bid the bright months as they circle to bring 
The summer, the autumn, and the sweet, sunny spring; 
And in wanter I bid tired Nature to rest 
And spread a white mantle of snow o'er her breast. 

' ' From the soft, rolling mist, I gather the shower 
To gladden the fields and freshen the flower; 
And on the high mountain I garner the snow 
To feed the bright streams in summer that flow. 

" But, alas! these scenes where music is heard, 
In the voice of the breeze and the song of the bird. 



LAMENT OF THE GUARDIAN OF EARTH. 171 

Are marred by the discords that fall on my ear 
From the voices of woe and cries of despair. 

*' The sweet voice of Nature is drowned by the din 
And discords that howl through the caverns of sin; 
Her garments of beauty, all trailed in the dust, 
Are stained by the filth and foulness of lust. 

" The battle's wild storm and the cannon's hot breath 
Sweep the bosom of Earth with the tempest of death; 
The field and the meadow with carnage are red, 
And the breeze is foul with the stench of the dead. 

" The lordly are revelling — the helpless are dying — 
The widow is wailing — the orphan is crying — 
And on the scarred Earth the demon of Wrath 
Leaves the blackness of ruin on his desolate path. 

^* The sun shines on meadow, on mountain and plain; 
The Earth yields its treasures of fruit and of grain; 
There 's plenty for all, their wants to supply, 
So that none need perish with hunger, and die. 

" But alas! for the greed and the grasping of man — 
Though his brief mortal life but measures a span, 
He spends it in gathering the dust of the earth, 
Nor cares for the things that only have worth. 

" And alas for the Earth! and alas for to-day! 
That the simple old times have now passed away; 
The mountains are rent asunder and torn. 
And the hills and valleys of beauty are shorn. 

*' By the clear, silver stream in the meadow so green, 
The merry-voiced mower no longer is seen; 
A wild, piercing scream has frightened the bird. 
And the song of the reaper no longer is heard. 

"" The deer is startled in the wild mountain glen 
By the shock of the blast and the yelling of men, 
Who scourge the green Earth in search of the gold 
For which they their souls to Mammon have sold. 



172 LAMENT OF THE GUARDIAN OF EARTH. 

" So, I weep o'er the Earth, as I think of the day 
Ere the simple old times had all passed away; 
When the fields they were sown, and tilled was the soil 
By the strength and the skill of the laborer's toil. 

" Let the one who holds in the grasp of his hand 
The wealth of the mountain, and fruit of the land, 
Remember, — that in some future he must 
Give strictly, and fully, an account of his trust! 

" When the children of Earth from their idols shall turn, 
From the pure fount of Truth bright wisdom shall learn — 
Shall quench in their souls the fierce flaming fire 
That lights the hot furnace of selfish desire, — 

" No longer shall the7i the pages of Time 
Be darkened by pictures and records of crime; 
The wild storms that rend Earth's bosom will cease — 
And her face will grow bright in the sunshine of peace. 

" Then, children of Earth! Ye offspring of Time! 
Oh, why will ye tread the pathways of crime ? 
And why will ye turn from the fountains of Light 
To grope in the gloom and darkness of Night?" 

San Francisco, 1888. 



THE GATE OF JUSTICE. 



I HAD a vision strange of late, 
While dreaming of man's future state. 
A gate I saw, a portal grand 
That opened to a beauteous land, 
Where trees of fadeless verdure grew 
And flowers bloomed of every hue. 
The gate was crystal, and it swung 
On Orient pearl, to which it hung. 

A highway to that portal led, 

O'er which all sons of earth must tread 

Who through the mortal vales have passed 

And reached a place where they at last 

Must learn what is their future fate 

Ere they can pass that crystal gate. 

And at that gate a spirit stood — 
Of stately form and stern of mood; 
His brow was cold, and bright his eyes 
As stars upon the midnight skies. 
And, by the shining, magic wand 
He held in his unwavering hand, 
I knew that being stern to be 
The spirit just of Equity. 

I watched the travellers as they came, 
Of every kindred, tongue, and name, 
Who'd crossed the Stygian waters o'er 
And sought the bright Elysian shore. 

First, one of haughty bearing came. 
Who bore on earth a kingly name. 
A crown upon his brow he wore 
And in his hand a sceptre bore. 
A prince he was, who ruled a land 
With cruel heart and tyrant hand; 



174 THE GATE OF JUSTICE. 

Whose wars had strewn the earth with bones 
And filled the land with human groans; 
Who now, with garments stained with blood,. 
Before stern Justice trembling stood. 

When Justice marked the golden crown, 
He raised his wand, and with a frown, 
He smote a magic-sounding shell. 
Which gave a deep, discordant knell. 
When, mingled with the accents low. 
Was heard the wailing voice of woe. 

Then paled the prince's brow with fear, 
As fell upon his listening ear 
The murdered soldier's dying groan, 
The lonely widow's v/ailing moan, 
The ruined maid's despairing sigh, 
The little orphan's helpless cry, 
Who 'd groaned their earthly lives away 
To make for him a holiday. 

Then, as by magic, all around 
Uprose pale spectres from the ground, 
Who all with hissing voices cried: 
" Behold thy victims at thy side, 
With burning scorn and purpose fell, 
To give thee now a taste of hell! 
To show thee what thy soul has lost, 
And teach thee what thy crimes have cost; 
Till thou shalt curse the fatal hour 
That gave to thee thine earthly power. 
For every drop for thee we 've bled, 
A burning tear thyself shalt shed, 
And thus thy crimes shalt expiate, 
Ere thou canst pass this crystal gate." 

Then Justice spake, and sternly said: 
" Accept the doom thyself hast made! 
Till these pale phantoms set thee free. 
Sweet Mercy ne'er can plead for thee. 
No being lives who has the power 



THE GATE OF JUSTICE. 175 

To give thee respite for an hour, 
Till thou hast compensation made, 
And all thy moral debts hast paid 
By penance such, as to thee must 
By highest law seem strictly just. 

Now go! and mid the realms of gloom, 
Accept what thou hast made thy doom." 

Then dropped the crown from off his brow — 
And like a wretched culprit now. 
With trembling limbs and cowering head, 
He with the mocking spectres fled. 

Then next came one of princely wealth — 

A miser old he 'd been; 
Had gathered stores of yellow gold 

And lived a life of sin. 

But ne'er had caused a flower to bloom 

On any earthly soil; 
Ne'er dried the tear on sorrow's cheek 

Nor soothed the lot of toil. 

But ever had with cruel hand 

Oppressed the helpless poor. 
And oft the suffering sons of want 

Had driven from his door. 

With cowering form and blanched cheek 

He stood before the gate. 
And like a trembling, scourged hound. 

His sentence did await. 

Again stern Justice smote the shell, 

When showers of molten gold 
And burning gems and jewels fell 

Upon the miser old. 

Go back to earth!" the spirit cried; 
" Undo what thou hast done; 
Go! and distribute now thy gold 
By thee unjustly won. 



[76 THE GATE OF JUSTICE. 

" Till then, each glittering, golden coin 
A burning disk shall be 
To scorch thy sordid soul until 
From avarice it is free!" 

The miser fled in wild dismay. 
Far from the realms of light; 

And sought to hide his sordid head 
Amid the glooms of night. 



The next one that came 

Bore a saintly name — 
A self-righteous man was he — 

And he looked as he thought, 

That surely he ought 
The Lord at once to see. 

He thought not to wait 

At the crystal gate. 
Like other men of sin; 

But surely that he 

Invited would be 
To step at once within. 

But the charm was broke, 

When he heard the stroke 
Of the wand that Justice held; 

And saw on the gate 

What then was his fate, 
In burning letters spelled: 

" As ye sow, so ye reap! 

Then go back and weep 
O'er the wrongs on earth you have done; 

Go! — pull up the weeds 

That sprang from the seeds 
Which, while on earth, you have sown." 

Then hung he his head, 
And straightway he fled — 
To where, I never can tell; 



J 



THE GATE OF JUSTICE. 177 

But where'er he was bound, 
I know that he found 
What for him was surely a hell! 

Another then came, with a tripping step 

And an eye that danced with glee, 
Who showed by his gait and his laughing brow 

That a merry soul was he. 

He looked not abashed, as frankly he said: 
" I fear I may have done wrong — 
For well have I loved the wild, merry dance. 
And I 've loved sweet music and song! 

" But ne'er have I crushed the bright-blooming flower, 
Nor words of harshness have spoken 
To poor erring ones or children of grief 
Whose hearts with sorrow were broken; 

" But ever have tried to bind up the wounds 
That the spear of anguish has made; 
And I 've loved to lighten the burdens of grief 
On the backs of the sorrowing laid." 

The face of Justice beamed with smiles. 
As thus he kindly spake: 
" Thou didst, by living merrily. 
No laws of Nature break: 

" The flowers in springtime love to bloom. 
And summer birds to sing; 
And Nature bids her children all 
To her bright offerings bring! 

" Then why should man insult her laws, 
By teaching that 'tis crime 
To be as bright and cheerful as 
The birds in summer time ? 

" So pass within the crystal gate 
With all thy merry glee. 
And there, with many joyous friends, 
Still happy shalt thou be!" 



THE GATE OF JUSTICE. 

With a bounding step and a merry glance, 

He lightly tripped within; 
And I've cause to believe a good time he had 

Though a jolly soul he 'd been. 

And then came one of humble mien, 
Who, while on earth, had sorrow seen; 
Whose heart had oft with anguish bled, 
And oft had tears of sorrow shed. 
He, trembling, came; for sure, he thought, 
No good on earth he ^d ever wrought; 
Therefore, thought he, no blissful state 
In the beyond could him await. 

The shell again stern Justice smote. 
And now it gave a silvery note — 
A note of music, soft and sweet 
As words that pass when angels meet. 
Then Justice smiled, and at his side 
Sweet Mercy stood and softly cried: 

" Now welcome! welcome! scourged one. 
Thine earthly sorrows all are o'er; 
No tear of anguish shed on earth 

Shall dim thine eyes on yonder shore! 

" The tears of sorrow thou hast shed 
Shall be bright gems and jewels now; 
And thorns that pierced thy bleeding heart 
Sweet roses on thine angel brow." 

Then softly swung the crystal gate- 
When, lo! an angel band 

Gave welcome to the coming one 
To the bright spirit land ! 

I woke, and found 'twas all a dream 

That with the night had fled; 
But still the lesson I received 

As by an angel read. 

San Francisco, 1885. 



TO THE TOILING SONS OF EARTH. 



"Labor omnia vincit.^'' 

Now, give to me a listening ear, 

Ye manly sons of toil, 
Who use the tool, or plough the sea, 

Or till the fruitful soil! 

Great Nature's works are all divine, 

And he (whoe'er he be) 
Who may infract her sacred laws 

Must pay the penalty. 

All things on earth that man can need, 

His wants to satisfy — 
To please the eye, to charm the ear. 

Or taste to gratify- 
All works of thought, of art or skill, 

The summer fruit and grain, 
Are products of industrious hand 

And of laborious brain. 

In Nature's realms all motion is, 
From whispering summer breeze 

To force that formed the mightiest orb 
And gathered rolling seas; 

From faintest light that glow-worm gives 

In sultry summer night 
To lightning's flash from stormy cloud 

And noonday sunbeam bright; 

From snowflake on the wintry blast 

To planet circling far; 
From atom chained in polar ice 

To distant flaming star! 



i8o TO THE TOILING SONS OF EARTH. 

All in harmonious order move 

To Nature's laws sublime, 
As on the eternal dial-plate 

They mark the years of time. 

From viewless gases springs the rock, 

And moisture, heat, and cold 
In time convert its flinty form 

Into the fruitful mould; 

From which the tiny blade of grass, 

And tree, and plant are born, 
And summer fruit, and golden grain, 

And flower that scents the morn! 

The lowest reptile hath its use, 

Some office to perform; 
Nor summer breeze more heathful is 

Than is the wintry storm. 

The beast that through the forest roams, 

The bird that cleaves the air, 
All things that live and 7nove on earth 

In Nature's labors share. 

The tree and plant well nurtured are 

By sunshine, rain, and dew; 
And Nature gives to beast and bird 

Its food and raiment, too. 

Man, hke the beast, of earth is born — 

Is from her bosom fed; 
And, like the beast, he there should find 

A place to lay his head. 

But he must seek with Labor's hand 

The food that Nature yields 
To beast and bird, without their care, 

Through all her teeming fields. 

Man is the youngest child of earth. 
And far more helpless he 



TO THE TOILING SONS OF EARTH. i8i 

Than beast, or bird, or reptile low, 
Or fish that swims the sea. 

All these from Nature's bounteous hand 

Receive their daily feed; 
But man must use his hands and brain 

To find what he may need. 

Each human being then should find 

Some little spot on earth 
Where he may make a sheltering home — 

For 'tis his right by birth. 

Let him who holds broad tracts of land, 

Of mountain, hill, and plain, 
With " cattle on a thousand hills " 

And fields of golden grain, — 

Remember, that by Nature's laws 

No right can he sustain 
To the broad leagues that now he claims 

Of mountain, hill, and plain, 

While starving want has not a place 

To lay its wretched head, 
And homeless orphans throng the earth 

Who cry for daily bread! 

All have a right to breathe the air. 

And drink the crystal wave. 
To till the earth from whence they sprang 

And where they find a grave — 

And he who, with a grasping hand, 

By cunning, force, or guile, 
Or under technic form of law 

These sacred rights defile, 

Before a stern tribunal shall 

Be held to strict account 
Of what he owes, and then be called 

To pay the full amount. 



i82 TO THE TOILING SONS OF EARTH. 

Where one great palace proudly stands 
'Mid lawn, and lake, and park, 

A hundred huts where misery dwells 
The region sadly mark — 

Where hardest toil for scanty food 

Is the poor peasant's fate, 
That some proud lord may sumptuous fare 

And dwell in high estate — 

That he may spend his worthless life 

In wild debauchery. 
Nor count the groans that buy for him 

His idle luxury. 

Oh, when will man this lesson learn. 

That he alone is great 
Who, by his honest, patient toil, 

Himself may elevate ? 

The jewelled sword for warrior wrought 

In time will turn to rust, 
And palace, by the tyrant built, 

Will crumble into dust — 

While he who bids a flower to bloom 

Upon a desert spot, 
A record makes which will remain 

When he shall be forgot. 

Then, Sons of Labor, list to one 

Who has a toiler been 
Till he has filled the measure full 

Of three score years and ten. 

And e'er has found that honest toil 

Has met a just reward; 
That prayers, by honest Labor made, 

Most surely will be heard. 

Then let the sound of Labor's voice 
Keep time to merry song, 



1 



TO THE TOILING SONS OF EARTH. 

As ye with earnest purpose toil 
To right what may be wrong; 

Until sweet Peace and Beauty dwell 
Where deserts once had been, 

And where the lordly palace stood 
The cottage may be seen. 

San Francisco, 1886. 



183 



A FRAGMENT. 



These lines were written in answer to a letter on the spirit of the times 
— the general tendency to acquire great wealth, social distinction, etc., in 
preference to the acquisition of knowledge and the cultivation of the 
gentler qualities of the mind. And for what ? When will it end ? 'T will 
most surely end some time! 

But not as ends the rosy cloud 

Above the ocean blue, 
Which melts away in crystal showers 

Or drops of morning dew — 

Which fall upon the meadow green 

And on the sunny plain, 
And bring to life the summer flower 

And feed the golden grain! 

But like the angry, dashing wave 

That breaks upon the shore. 
And backward rolls into the deep, 

Where it is heard no more. 

Aye, such is wild Ambition's end! 

An angry, dashing wave 
Which breaks upon a barren shore, 

Where it must find a grave. 

Oh, why will mortals madly rush 

Against the bars of Fate? 
And disregard the sunny path 

That leads through Wisdom's gate 

To pleasant fields, where sunny skies 

O'erhang the meadows green. 
Where flowers of sweetest fragrance bloom 

By lakes of silver sheen. 

But why lament that this is so! 
Since man will ever be 



A FRAGMENT. 

Ambition's slave and Passion's thrall 
Till Wisdom set him free. 

And when, by scourging, he has found 
That passion does not pay, 

He then may stop his mad career 
And seek "the better way." 

When this may come, no one can tell- 
But come, it doubtless will; 

Since all the plans that Nature lays 
She surely will fulfil, 

Though kingdoms rise and empires fall, 
And wasting whirlwinds blow,— 

For Nature's mills ne'er cease to grind. 
Although they may grind slow. 

The mushroom gets its growth complete 

Within a single night. 
While ages are required to make 

The brilliant diamond bright. 

The mushroom (which is born of filth) 

Will perish in a day. 
While the enduring gem is bright 

While empires pass away. 

San Francisco, September 21, 1893. 



185 



LELAND STANFORD JR. UNIVERSITY. 



" The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces. 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself. 
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve ; 
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded. 
Leave not a rack behind." 

— Shakespeare, in the "Tempest. 

With vision clear, in thought subUme, 
I backward glanced to ancient time; 
Ere man had left the brutal age, 
Or pen had writ historic page; 
Ere he had light from reason caught, 
Or by fair Science had been taught; 
Ere harp by minstrel's hand was strung, 
Or song by epic bard was sung. 

He naked roamed the ancient woods, 
And fearless swam the rolling floods; 
He warred the wolf and mountain bear, 
And smote the lion in his lair. 
The hollow oak and rocky cave 
To him sufficient shelter gave. 

Dissolving, passed that hoary page; 
Another came! of brighter age: 

In the famed land of Rameses, 
And by the rolling Euphrates, 
And where the sacred Ganges flows, 
Fed by the white Himalayan snows — 
I saw Cyclopean structures rise 
Towards the bending azure skies, 
That tyrants proud, of haughty name, 
Might thus acquire immortal fame. 

Where are they now ? They passed away 
Like insects of a summer's day; 



LELAND STANFORD JR. UNIVERSITY. 187 

Their crumbling bones in silence rot, 
And their proud names are now forgot. 

The solemn Sphinx in silence stands 
Half buried 'neath the Libyan sands, 
Nor speaks to tell its age on earth, 
Or who it was that gave it birth. 

The cause that reared the pyramid 
Is in the mist of ages hid, 
And none can tell what Pharaoh's tomb 
Is shrouded in its silent gloom. 

Dark ruins now are found alone 
Where stood the mighty Babylon, 
And, like a dream at dawn of day, 
Proud Nineveh has passed away. 

The wandering Arab cooks his food 
Where once Bel-Nimrod's temple stood, 
And night-bird makes its lonely nest 
Where the Assyrian monarchs rest. 

In hundred-gated Thebes no more 
Of human strife is heard the roar, 
And silence now its vigil keeps 
Where Karnak's ancient ruin sleeps. 

That scene barbaric, melting, fled — 
Another picture came instead: 
A picture bright of later times. 
Of classic age, and classic climes. 
When savage grandeur gave its place 
To Grecian art and Roman grace. 

Corinthian sculpture now was seen 
Where rude Cyclopean works had been. 
Of Love Divine, the poet sang. 
From Parian marbles Beauty sprang, 
And, fresh as flowers at dewy morn, 
Bright forms were on the canvas born. 
On sacred mount, by rolling flood, 



i88 LELAND STANFORD JR. UNIVERSITY 

The lofty temple proudly stood, 
While deep within the classic shade 
Was seen the marble colonnade. 

Like magic views on canvas cast, 
Red scenes of war before me passed, 
Where, hand to hand, on fields of blood, 
Contending hosts in battle stood. 
I saw the phalanx meet the shock 
Of fiercest battle, as a rock 
Unshaken meets the dashing main, 
And backward rolls the tide again. 

I saw Achilles strike the blow 
That laid the crested Hector low; 
I heard the Argive warrior's yell 
When Troy's brave son in battle fell; 
I saw old Priam's hoary head 
Low bowed in anguish o'er the dead. 
And on the breeze was borne to me 
The sighs of sad Andromache; 
While IlHum's daughters wept in vain 
O'er Priam's son in battle slain. 

I saw upon the Grecian coast 
Proud Xerxes, with his bannered host; 
Beheld the daring Spartan band 
That, to defend their mountain land. 
Poured out their blood like water free. 
And died at old Thermopylae. 
And Philip's bold, all-conquering son, 
Who many hundred battles won, 
Who armies led to Indian lands, 
And o'er the burning Libyan sands. 
In the lewd court of Babylon, 
With reason, will, and wisdom gone — 
Him, too, I saw all helpless lie, 
And, conquered by his passions, die. 

I heard the slow and measured tread 
Of conquering legions, homeward led; 



LELAND STANFORD JR. UNIVERSITY. 

I saw the cohorts in their march 
Beneath the grand triumphal arch; 
I saw the eagles proud displayed, 
Which Rome, Imperial Mistress made 
From Scythian snows to where the breeze 
Blows softly o'er the southern seas; 
From Afric's sands, and Indian plain. 
To where wide rolls the western main. 

I heard the notes of Homer's lyre, 
And Pindar's odes of living fire; 
I saw the famed Demosthenes, 
And heard the words of Socrates; 
And Plato's voice in accents clear 
Fell softly on my listening ear. 
While Virgil sang in pastoral strain 
Of flocks, and herds, and yellow grain. 

Like midnight dreams at dawn of day. 
That classic period passed away; 
From youth to age, its race had run. 
When sank in storms its noon-day sun. 
On Tadmor's waste of desert sands, 
The broken column lonely stands, 
And time-worn ruins sadly tell 
That cloud and darkness on it fell. 

But though the Grecian portico 
By wasting time is now laid low— 
And though the Roman Pantheon 
Has now to crumbling ruins gone — 
And though no more the legions march 
'Neath Scipio's grand triumphal arch— 
And though the banners that they bore 
Will awe the trembling world no more- 
Yet still the wisdom of that age 
Is writ on many a classic page; 
And highest lessons still are taught 
In works by classic artists wrought. 
Corinthian columns still adorn 
The marble palace lately born; 



I90 LELAND STANFORD JR. UNIVERSITY. 

And still Ionic grandeur stands 
A model in all cultured lands. 

Successive pictures came and passed 
Like fleeting shades on canvas cast; 
Until the fiery storm awoke 
Which on the Eternal City broke, 
When savage Goth and Vandal came 
And gave her pride to sword and flame. 

I heard the wild barbaric yell 
When Rome's Imperial grandeur fell; 
From whence the classic Muses fled 
With weeping eyes and drooping head. 
I saw the stormy clouds that long 
Hung o'er the land of classic song, 
When Learning sought the cloistered shade. 
And there its lonely dwelling made; 
While Alaric fierce, with savage band. 
With fire and sword swept o'er the land; 
And Attila, named the "Scourge of God," 
Wild war and rapine spread abroad. 

Rude was the dark mediaeval age. 
And blotted its historic page; 
Dark, sullen clouds, in midnight gloom. 
Hung like a pall o'er Learning's tomb. 
The serf was ruled by brutal hand 
And Superstition's magic wand; 
The feudal lord controlled his breath, 
And, as he willed, gave life or death! 

Yet, though the clouds in darkness hung 
Where Plato taught and Virgil sung. 
Still, here and there, a beaming light 
Shone brightly through the sullen night. 
Petrarch awoke the lyric strain — 
And Dante's muse, the harp again; 
With brush divine, young Raphael came,. 
And e'en surpassed Apelles' fame; 
And Angelo, with magic stroke. 
From marble cold bright beauty woke; 



I 



LELAND STANFORD JR. UNIVERSITY. 191 

While other Hghts shone through the gloom 
That hung o'er Learning's silent tomb. 
But Science still in darkness lay 
In waiting for the coming day! 

While Europe thus in darkness lay, 

And Timur, the Tartar, far away 

Beyond the rolling Euxine sea. 

Led savage hordes to victory, 

With flaming torch and fiery wrath. 

And leaving ruin in his path — 

A Spirit bright was born on earth : 

Of Thought Divine, it had its birth, 

And angels hailed the rosy morn 

That saw the Art of Printing born — 

Redeemer of Humanity 

And bulwark strong of Liberty! 

And highest honors surely must 

Be given to the name of Faust — 

Since he it was who struck the light 

That backward rolled the clouds of night; 

Who wrought with skill a magic key 

To spring the bolts of tyranny. 

No sculptured marble vigil keeps 
Where Alaric's dust, forgotten, sleeps; 
Nor where Attila's bed was made. 
When in the dust his bones were laid. 
And Timur's shaggy demons passed 
Like desert whirlwind's scorching blast, 
Whose fiery breath, though fiercely hot, 
When it has passed is soon forgot. 
But Faust shall live on history's page 
Down to the time of latest age; 
For surely he received from heaven 
The gift which he to man has given. 

Sweet was the song the angels sung, 
When they beheld the spirit young 
Which would, in time, become to be 
Redeemer of Humanity! 



192 LELAND STANFORD JR. UNIVERSITY. 

The age of darkness now had passed, 
The rosy dawn had broke at last, 
In time to shed a beaming hght 
O'er the long, dark mediaeval night. 

Bright Learning from her sleep awoke! 
Young Science now arose and spoke! 
And Thought Divine, with vision bright, 
Demanded its inherent right! 

Astronomy, with piercing sight. 
Looked out upon the fields of night, 
And bade the rolling orbs to tell 
How they the seasons marked so well. 

Discovery boldly sailed the tide 
Of unknown sea and ocean wide; 
And while on search it was intent. 
It found a Western Continent! 

Bright Science now assumed the rule, 
In place of the Empiric school — 
The student sounded Nature's laws. 
And of effect inquired the cause; 
Wise Harvey watched the circling blood. 
And clearly traced the crimson flood; 
The chemist sought the latent force, 
And chained the lightning in its course, 
To it commands and orders gave 
That made it an obedient slave. 
And thus, was knowledge shown to be 
The guardian strong of Liberty! 

Thus, from the dark, barbaric age. 
As shown by dim historic page, 
The race of man advancement made 
From brutal state to higher grade, 
Till now it stands on higher ground 
Than where the ancient race was found. 

Though histories writ of modern times. 
Dark records show of brutal crimes, 



LELAND STANFORD JR. UNIVERSITY. 193 

Yet still the stains are not so dark 
As those that ancient pages mark. 

Where once grim Moloch's altars smoked, 
And savage priests his power invoked; 
Where once the frowning Bastile stood 
With portals stained with human blood, 
With dungeons dark, where captives sighed. 
And hopeless wept, and guiltless died — 
Stand temples bright to Liberty 
And monuments to Charity, 
Where Nature's truths divine are taught, 
And gifts of gentle love are brought. 
Which set the mind from bondage free 
And kinder make Humanity! 

O'er all the land, from sea to sea, 

Are seen the works of Charity! 

In shelter made for lonely age 

From summer storms and winter's rage; 

And orphaned babes and helpless blind 

Protection and asylum find; 

While those whose minds unhinged are, 

Are guarded well with sheltering care — 

All these proclaim the race to be 

In progress towards divinity! 

And here upon this sunny shore 
That hears the western ocean roar. 
Where bright the summer sunbeams shine 
On fruitful field and clustering vine, 
Where mountain peaks o'erlook the plain 
O'erspread with fields of golden grain — 
Fair Science now has found a seat, 
And here has reared a temple meet, 
Where '' Palo Alto " cradled lies 
Beneath the bending azure skies. 
Where softly sings the summer breeze 
That whispers of the western seas. 



194 LELAND STANFORD JR. UNIVERSITY. 

And here, within this quiet shade, 
Which shall, in time, be classic made, 
As was the grove where Plato walked 
And with his young disciples talked — 
Will now be taught the classic lore 
Which lit the ancient world of yore: 
The epic hymns by Homer sung; 
The pastoral songs of Virgil's tongue; 
The wisdom bright of Socrates, 
And justice of Aristides; 
The art that gave to Phidias fame, 
And honored made Apelles' name. 

The wisdom needed to be great 
As honored ruler of a State; 
Forensic lore, to make one meet 
To sit upon the judgment seat; 
The chemic laws, that bind the force 
And guide the atom in its course; 
And laws mechanic that control 
The circling planets as they roll. 
And humbler arts can there be learned,. 
By which man's daily bread is earned; 
So that, with self-reliance, he 
May ever independent be! 

Colossal structures, towering high, 
Tell of the bondsman's bitter sigh; 
And storied tombs, where heroes sleep,. 
But for a time their memories keep. 
But he who, by a generous deed, 
With willing hand supplies a need 
Of fellow-man (whate'er it be), 
To raise him in humanity, — 
Will leave a name on history's page 
Which will go down to future age, 
And which will be more lasting far 
Than storied urns and marbles are! 
Since, should the act be quite forgot — 
By those on earth remembered not — 



LELAND STANFORD JR. UNIVERSITY. 195 

Yet still it will effective be 

In Nature's vast eternity, 

Though orb should cease its course to run 

Around the glowing central sun! 

Then, ye who seek this quiet shade 

Where Learning has her temple made, 

That ye may there communion hold 

With spirits bright and sages old; 

Beneath the dark, umbrageous trees 

Wise converse hold with Socrates; 

With Plato walk the shady grove. 

And o'er the fields with Virgil rove; 

Hear Homer's voice upon the breeze. 

And listen to Demosthenes; 

With Euclid study angling lines, 

And tell the measure of their sines; 

With Newton measure acting force 

That holds the planet in its course; 

With Franklin catch the electric light, 

And chain the Hghtning in its flight; 

And ye who seek in lower sphere 

For practic skill and knowledge here — 

Remember all this truth sublime. 

Which naught can change in coming time: — 

All wisdom is by labor gained. 

And that which is not thus obtained 

Is valued not, and soon is lost. 

Since its acquirement nothing cost. 

Another truth ye '11 bear in mind. 
Which, by experience, ye will find: — 
The law that rules the humblest things 
Is just as great as that which wings 
The rolling planet in its flight 
And rules the tempest in its might! 

Another still, ye '11 not forget. 
Which must be deep in memory set: — 
The humblest labor, justly done, 



196 LELAND STANFORD JR. UNIVERSITY. 

By which man's daily bread is won, 
As noble is, by Nature's laws. 
As noblest act in highest cause! 

Thus, it is seen, from all the past, 
That monuments, to always last. 
That may defy all-wasting Time, 
Must builded be by Thought sublime! 
Hence, student's pen is mightier far 
Than weapons of the warrior are. 

San Francisco, June, 1891. 



THE DYING SINNER AND THE CONFESSOR. 



SINNER. 

They tell me, Father, I must die, 
And that the solemn hour is nigh 

And close at hand, 
When I must say to all good-bye 

Who round me stand. 

And, as by friends I have been told 
That you have learned from prophets old 

What may be found 
Beyond that river dark and cold. 

Where I am bound — 

I pray you now, if this be so, 
Before I let my moorings go, 

Give me a lift; 
That where I 'm going I may know, 

When cast adrift. 

Then speak, I pray, and quickly, too! 
For by this cold and clammy dew 

Upon my brow, 
I know but fleeting moments few 

Are left me now. 

The holy Father shook his head 
As to the dying man he said: 
I fear, my son, you 're somewhat late 
In thinking of the future state; 
But I will see what can be done 
Before the sands of life have run. 
But, first of all, you must confess 
All that in life you 've done amiss; 
Another point — and, to be brief, 
You must be sound in your belief, 



DYING SINNER AND CONFESSOR. 

That you, like all the sons of earth, 
Have been condemned from your birth, 
Conceived in guilt and born in sin, 
That wicked only you have been; 
That sinless blood, and this alone, 
Can for the guilt of man atone; 
That angry justice ever cries 
For streaming gore as sacrifice." 



SINNER. 

Now, by my faith! if this be true, 
I think I shall have much to do 

Before I leave; 
And more in fact than I '11 get through. 

As I believe. 

But, Father, hold! can this be just? 
For, truth to tell, confess I must, 

That I can't see 
Why helpless mortals, born of dust, 

So damned should be! 

I little know of learned creed. 
But can the book of Nature read. 

And there find cause 
Why man should ever strictly heed 

Bright Wisdom's laws. 

And in this book I find it taught 
That pardon for a crime is bought 

By actions good; 
But that redemption ne'er was wrought 

By shedding blood. 

And as for death — I look around 
Wherever teeming life is found, 

On land or sea, — 
And find that all alike are bound 

By this decree. 



DYING SINNER AND CONFESSOR. 199 

So, Father, then, it seems to me 
That death a punishment cannot be 

For some dark crime 
Committed by our ancestry 

In early time! 

But that it comes by laws divine, 
As kind, and gentle, and benign 

As those that bring 
The balmy breath and bright sunshine 

Of flowery spring. 

You say that I must be confessed 
Ere I can by the Church be blessed, 

Or hope to greet 
A welcome in that land of rest 

Where angels meet ? 

Upon the earth I 've journeyed long; 
Sometimes with grief^sometimes with song — 

I 've won and lost; 
And when, by chance, I have done wrong, 

I 've paid the cost. 

Now, this is all that I can say, 

And if with this your Reverence may 



A passport give, 

do it quickly, now I pray. 



Then 

While yet I live! 



PRIEST. 

I nought can do for your relief, 

With all this bitter unbelief; 

For as 'tis writ, believe you must, 

Or else, beyond remede, you 're lost! 

I cannot speak of Nature's laws, 

Nor do I seek to find a cause; 

I only know what's in the Word 

Where I find writ: " Thus saith the Lord. 



200 DYING SINNER AND CONFESSOR. 

SINNER. 

Your Reverence! then, my chance I '11 take, 
And see what weather I can make 

Upon that deep, 
O'er which no angry billows break 

Nor tempests sweep. 

Lit by the hand of Love Divine, 
Perchance some beaming light may shine 

To pilot me, 
And that some gentle law benign 

My guide may be. 

The Power that bids the lily bloom 
And lays man in the silent tomb, 

I do not fear; 
Nor do I yet see aught of gloom 

About the bier. 

E'en now, methinks I catch a gleam 
Of something like a beauteous dream, 

As seen at night, 
When Fancy's airy chambers beam 

With rosy light! 

And brighter still the picture grows, 
And sweeter forms of beauty shows. 

That on me gaze 
From emerald bowers where blooms the rose 

' Mid golden haze! 

1 see a land of brighter sheen 
Than e'er by mortal eye was seen. 

Far, far away ! 
Where bright flowers bloom in meadows green, 

And fountains play. 

I hear the song the angels sing 
To tuneful harps of softest string, 

As round they stand 
To bear my soul on golden wing 

To that bright land! 



DYING SINNER AND CONFESSOR. 201 

As on this mortal couch I He, 
I do not find it hard to die; 

In truth, 'tis sweet — 
'Tis but on rosy wings to fly. 

Bright forms to meet! 

Now farewell, Father, we may meet, 
And blithely may each other greet 

When life is o'er. 
And you shall tread with weary feet 

Earth's paths no more. 



The dying sinner sank to rest 
Like infant on its mother's breast, 
And went his way the priest to wait 
On those who sought Saint Peter's gate. 



San Francisco, 1869. 



THE SINNER BEFORE SAINT PETER. 



SAINT PETER. 

Now tell me, sir, what you have done 
In the long race that you have run, 
Since first your earthly life begun 

In early morn; 
Come, tell me now, what you have won 

By being born ? 

How you your earthly life have spent; 
If you to crime yourself have lent; 
On selfish purpose have been bent 

To gather pelf; 
Nor e'er for others cared a cent. 

Beside yourself ? 

So out with what you have to say! 
In language clear, as bright as day; 
Nor aught conceal, nor think to play 

A double part; 
Nor that you here can make your way 

By cunning art. 



I hear you, sir, and heed you well. 
And I the honest truth will tell, 
Though it may send my soul to hell! 

My life on earth 
A mixture was of good and ill. 

Of grief and mirth. 

I sometimes in the realms of light 
Sweet converse held with angels bright, 
But often 'mid the glooms of night 
I went astray. 



1 



THE SINNER BEFORE SAINT PETER. 

And from the pleasant paths of right 
Fell far away. 

I 've gone on many a rattling spree 
With spirits bright of mirth and glee, 
Have mixed in scenes of revelry — 

And too have run 
Full many a rig of deviltry, 

But all in fun. 

And so my earthly Hfe, in brief, 
Has been a scene of joy and grief; 
A blooming flower— a withered leaf, 

With many a stain — 
And, as I think, a blasted sheaf 

With little grain. 



SAINT PETER. 

Hold! hold, my man! now that will do; 
I know that what you say is true; 
And faith! to me 7 is fwlhing new ; 

For I have run 
The record o'er of all that you 

On earth have done. 

I know that oft you 've wayward been 
Among the reckless sons of men; 
That often you 've been caught within 

The tempter's trap; 
That oft you 've trod the path of sin, 

A thoughtless chap; 

But, by the record left behind, 
I see that you have e'er been kind 
To suffering poor and helpless blind; 

That many a tear 
O'er sorrowing ones you 've shed, I find, 

When none were near. 

Though you the barley-bree have sipped, 
And oft with jolly friends have nipped— 



204 THE SINNER BEFORE SAINT PETER. 

And though you often, too, have slipped 

And got a fall, 
You, in the main, have upright kept 

In spite of all! 

Such faults as these from follies spring; 
And though they always suffering bring 
And leave behind a passing sting, 

They often teach 
Kind Pity's love for everything 

Within her reach. 

Although your righteous robe has been 
To hide your secret thoughts too thin, 
Or to conceal the rags within, — 

Your soul, I see, 
Has never yet been clothed in 

Hypocrisy. 

And 'mong the weeds that you have sown, 
Sweet flowers have sprung, to you unknown; 
These wicked weeds have now been mown 

And cast aside — 
While the bright flowers have freshly grown 

And still abide. 

I know while on the tyrant's head 
Your curses fell, a tear you 've shed 
In silence o'er lone Sorrow's head, 

And given a sigh 
For those whose hearts with anguish bled, 

As they passed by. 

There 's many a one with lengthened face. 
With austere brow and solemn pace. 
Who thinks to find a goodly place 

At his "new birth," 
When he shall end his selfish race 

Upon the earth; 

But, sure as death! he then will find 
That records he has left behind 



THE SINNER BEFORE SAINT PETER. 205 

Which tell that he has been unkind— 

Has crushed the poor, 
And driven the wretched, maimed, and blind 

Far from his door — 

Will send him down to deepest hell. 
Where selfish slaves of Mammon dwell! 
Who, while on earth, their souls they sell 

For sordid wealth; 
Who gather gold and guard it well 

By fraud and stealth. 

While reckless sons of mirth and fun, 
Whose earthly lives have rattling run, 
Yet, who have acts of kindness done. 

And the meanwhile 
Have from the lips of Sorrow won 

A beaming smile, — 

Will find themselves in meadows green. 
Where crystal lakes of silver sheen. 
And vernal groves and flowers are seen; 

Where they will find 
A meet reward for what they 've been 

To human kind! 



So you can pass this crystal door 
And to the realms of beauty soar, 
Which you may freely wander o'er. 

Until you find 
A place upon that sunny shore 

To suit your mind. 

San Francisco, 1S88. 



THE HOLY COAT. 



The coat is found at Argenteuil, 
The Frenchman he beHeves; 

No, says the German, for the coat 
Is surely found at Treves! 

No need to argue, gentlemen. 

To quarrel or to fight. 
For surely there's no reason why 

You both may not be right. 

Although the humble Nazarene 

No royal garments wore. 
Still, doubtless, while he dwelt on earth 

Two coats he had, or more ! 

That such, indeed, may 've been the fact 

I very well can see; 
But of what stuff the coats were made 

Is now what puzzles me — 

To have withstood for ages long 

The tooth of moth and rust, 
While pillared dome and marble pile 

Have crumbled into dust. 



San Francisco, 1891. 



THE MATERIALIST AND THE SPIRIT- 
UALIST. 



MATERIALIST. 

My spiritual friend, if you have time 
To listen to my doggerel rhyme, 
I think I '11 clearly prove to you 
That your wild fancies can't be true. 

Now, to begin, you will allow 
To patent facts that you must bow; 
That you can make no good defence 
'Gainst what is taught by common sense. 

You say man's soul will never die. 
But to celestial realms will fly; 
That it will have a heavenly birth 
When it shall leave the vales of earth ? 

Tell me, my friend, li this you can. 
Why you award this gift to man. 
Yet it deny to warbling bird, 
To roaming beast and grazing herd ? 
Is man composed of finer clay. 
More graceful is in form than they, 
Shows he more wisdom in his ways 
Than beaver, bee, or ant displays ? 

He cannot match the bounding steed 
In grace of form or winged speed; 
The sky-lark's songs are sweeter far 
Than his best notes of music are; 
The toiling ant and busy bee 
Are far more provident than he; 
The faithful dog and cooing dove. 
Than he more constant are in love. 



2o8 MATERIALIST AND SPIRITUALIST 

Now don't you think that you're unjust 
In dooming these to senseless dust, 
While you give man a dwelling bright 
'Mong angels in the realms of light ? 



SPIRITUALIST. 

My honest friend, plain truth to tell. 
As far's you go, you reason well; 
But you stop short the highest mark, 
And leave the subject in the dark. 

Now, God forbid, that I deny 
To aught that lives beneath the sky, 
'Mong all the myriad living throngs. 
Such future as to it belongs. 
These. live and move through spirit-mind 
In some degree, the same in kind 
As that which Hghts an angel's brow 
In highest realms of beauty now. 
The bloom upon the rose's breast — 
The love that warms the turtle's nest — 
In form, though transient as the dew. 
In higher realms will live anew! 
Since humblest children of the earth 
Are beings of celestial birth. 

The spirit-life that they contain, 

Though quenched a while, will shine again: 

Since nothing is, or can be lost — 

But, ever from decaying dust, 

Like rosy beams in early morn, 

In other form again is born! 

Therefore, my friend, you see that I 
Do not, as you suppose, deny 
That beings of the humblest birth 
May live beyond the vales of earth. 

Man, and the beast, and all the things 
That Nature into being brings, 



MATERIALIST AND SPIRITUALIST. 209 

Spring from the same Infinite Source, 
Each taking its allotted course. 
The only difference is, that man 
Has reached a higher point, and can 
Soar higher in the realm of Cause 
And deeper delve in Nature's laws. 

MATERIALIST. 

Your reasoning, sir, is new to me; 
But in the view you take, I see 
Some knotty points, which much I fear 
Your highest reasoning cannot clear. 

You will admit that, in his shape, 
Man little is above the ape- 
That many things of land and sea, 
In form, more graceful are than he — 
And yet you claim, in wisdom's way, 
That he is higher far than they — 
That he a stronger steed can ride. 
With lofty Reason for his guide! 

If this be so, why do we find 

So many of the human kind 

More soiled than they by sordid dust, 

And baser far in sensual lust ? 

Now let us mark the squirming mass 
Of human reptiles as they pass, 
Of high estate and low degree. 
And pictures draw of what we see: 

The royal crown upon yo7t head 

Is smeared with blood in battle shed; 

The gaudy plumes that hero wears 
Are stained with many a widow's tears; 

Yon pompous son of lordly wealth, 
Together got by fraud and stealth, 
A vampire is — since all he 's won 
Has been from work by others done; 



2IO MATERIALIST AND SPIRITUALIST. 

That sordid wretch, with form so bent, 
Who thinks alone of cent per cent, 
Is shivering in the wintry cold, 
And starves himself to save his gold; 

Yon canting knave, with saintly face. 
Who occupies a teacher's place, 
For honest purpose is not fit. 
For he's an arrant hypocrite — 
He cares not for his neighbor's life. 
But slyly loves his neighbor's wife. 

Are these the stuff that Nature takes 
To form the angels which she makes ? 
A task it would be somewhat tough 
To make an angel of such stuff! 

No grain from thistles can you reap. 
And wolves are never turned to sheep; 
Nor silken purse, you will admit. 
From ear of swine was ever knit. 

SPIRITUALIST. 

My honest friend, you 're frank I see^ 
And your frank spirit pleases me — 
It shows to me, in very sooth, 
That you are seeking honest truth. 

This subject, sir, indeed is deep; 
But if your reckoning you will keep^ 
I now will try to prove to you 
That honest truth I'm seeking, too. 

Now look around on every hand — 
On earth, in air, on sea and land. 
Where'er it be — and you will find 
How well the mills of Nature grind: 

The curling mist, the wandering dust. 
The mildew damp and eating rust, 
Are just as much beneath control 
As suns that shine and orbs that roll I 



MATERIALIST AND SPIRITUALIST 211 

The bolt that rends the gnarled oak 
Is not more wayward in its stroke 
Than breeze that bends the waving corn 
And gently fans the brow of morn! 

The things that light and beauty bring, 
From tempest wild and discord spring; 
If it were not for cloud and storm, 
We ne'er would see the rainbow's form; 
And were it not for gloomy night. 
We ne'er would see the morning light! 

And thus it is, that seeming ill 
Oft springs from struggles made to fill 
Some yearning void, which longs to feed 
Upon such food as it may need. 

Come, let us see if now we can 
Apply this rule to thinking man. 
The highest thing on earth we find 
With moral sense and reasoning mind. 

As motion in material things 

From craving want and hunger springs, 

So in the moral spheres of life 

Are discords found, and mental strife. 

Man longs for what he has not got, 
And when he gets it, wants it not. 
But roams the realms of nature through 
In search of something that is new! 
He values not what he has done. 
Nor prizes what he may have won, 
But forward looks with longing eyes, 
That he may win a higher prize ! 

And this is why the miser old 
Himself will starve to save his gold; 
Ambition seek to write its name 
Upon the lofdest dome of Fame; 
The warrior boldly risk his life 
On battle-fields in mortal strife; 



212 MATERIALIST AND SPIRITUALIST 

The student by the midnight lamp, 
In garret toil, or cellar damp. 

All ever look with longing eyes 
To that which in the future lies — 
And still they toil, though Reason teach 
That what they seek they cannot reach. 

MATERIALIST. 

I think you 've got me in the door. 
So I had better say no more. 
Since I must frankly own to you, 
(If what I've claimed indeed be true), 
The humblest thing of lowest birth 
That swims the sea, or crawls the earth, 
Whose life is of the shortest span, 
Is better off than reasoning man — 

If he be born to toil and sweat 
For what 's beyond his reach to get, 
He'd better far been made a fly — 
Born in the morn, at eve to die — 
Than stand on earth, as he does now, 
With Reason's light upon his brow, 
With winged Thought that flies afar 
To rolling orb and shining star! 
Of all on earth by Nature nursed, 
He surely is the most accursed. 

SPIRITUALIST. 

By all the rules of common sense, 
Such seems to be the consequence; 
But let me try and help you through 
This dismal, dark, and miry slough. 

If Nature worked by square and rule. 
As workman makes a chair or stool, 
Then in her workshop surely she 
Would prove herself a botch to be — 
Since, when we look around, we find 



MATERIALIST AND SPIRITUALIST. 213 

In maimed and halt, in deaf and blind, 
Such seeming failures on her part 
As ne'er were found in perfect art. 

But Nature works by other plan 
In making insect, beast, and man, — 
She needs no hammer, nail, or saw, 
But works alone by general law. 

From deepest caves of darkest night 
To highest realms of clearest light. 
She being forms in each degree 
To fit such ends as she may see. 
In lowest realms, 'mid roaring storms 
And sulphurous clouds, are hideous forms, 
Whose monstrous structures fitted are 
To breathe the poisonous vapors there. 

Ascending up from darkness black. 
Through raging storm and rolling rack, 
'Neath leafy tree in meadow green 
Are higher forms of beauty seen. 

And upward still, from sphere to sphere. 
From twilight shades to regions clear. 
Ascending spirit wings its flight 
To regions of sublimest light! 
From whence it scans the vista vast 
Through which in aeons it has passed, 
Since last it winged its flight to earth 
With yearnings for a mortal birth. 

Through this vast journey, too sublime 
To be expressed by marks of time. 
All spirits pass, that they may be 
Incarnate in mortality. 

Long, long they rest in infant sleep, 
Of which no records they can keep. 
Ere they ascend to sensuous life 
Where passion dwells in warring strife. 
They sleep in rock and morning dew, 



214 MATERIALIST AND SPIRITUALIST. 

They tint the rose and violet blue, 
And on the winged beams of light 
The rainbow paint with colors bright. 

They wake to life in sensuous things — 
In beast that howls, in bird that sings; 
They warm with love the linnet's nest. 
With passion thrill the human breast. 

'T is spirit-life that takes a rest 
Within the sleeping mineral's breast; 
In higher form more brightly glows 
In lily pale and blooming rose; 
And higher still its voice is heard 
In silvery song of warbling bird, 
And, sweeter still, in songs of love 
That soothe the nestling turtle-dove! 

The earthly form is but a tent 
In which a passing day is spent. 
As spirit-life in form ascends 
To where its circling journey ends. 

The form is fragile, and will pass 
Like morning dew on summer grass; 
But still the spirit will remain. 
And shine through higher forms again. 

The clay from which is formed the shell 
In which the lower beings dwell 
Is just the same, as well is wrought, 
As that which shelters highest thought; 
And spark that lights the lowest form 
That dwells 'mid tempest, rack, and storm. 
Is no more quenched than flames that light 
The poet's mind with visions bright! 

Therefore, my friend, you see that I 
To humblest beings don't deny 
That Nature e'en to ihem may give 
A higher life than now they live. 



MATERIALIST AND SPIRITUALIST 215 

Now, let us run man's history o'er, 
And on its blotted pages pore, 
And see what is recorded there 
By smiling Hope, and dark Despair, 
By Love and Hate, by Joy and Grief, 
By generous hand and prowling thief. 
By bloated wealth and starving need, 
Ambition proud and grasping greed, 
And all the passions wild that tell 
That man but makes his heaven or hell! 

Contented is the lily fair 
To drink the dew and breathe the air; 
The bird and beast to seek their food 
And watch with care their infant brood; 
They peaceful pass their lives away. 
And careless end the closing day; 
Unthinking of the coming morrow, 
No care from it they ever borrow, 
And, seeking not to find the cause. 
They simply follow Nature's laws. 
Yet still their lives will not be lost. 
But in the end will pay the cost — 
For surely they recalled will be 
In Nature's vast Eternity! 

Now, man is Nature's youngest born; 
Is still yet in his infant morn, 
Still in the helpless nursing zone, 
And yet can hardly walk alone, 
But stumbles as he goes, and falls — 
And like a child he cries and bawls, 
And raves and rants in strife and battle 
When he has lost his little rattle. 

But he 's progressing on his way; 
Though yet his life 's an infant's play, 
He still has passed the simple time 
When passion was, or could be crime — 
When the sole guide to moral sense 
Was Nature's simple innocence. 



2i6 MATERIALIST AND SPIRITUALIST. 

He backward looks o'er voiceless seas, 
Unswept by storm or whispering breeze, 
And lighted by no beacon flame 
To show the road by which he came — 

But onward dawns a rosy light 

On landscapes fair and pictures bright, 

And new-born Hope, with rosy hand, 

Points upward to a promised land 

Where Beauty sports on flowery wings, 

And siren songs of pleasure sings; 

While Fancy points, with beaming smile, 

To fitful hghts that oft beguile 

And lead the thoughtless child astray 

From Reason's path and Wisdom's way. 

As child is taught by fingers burned. 
So wisdom's by experience learned; 
And man, being a free agent, he 
Must self-reliant learn to be. 
That he may steer his earthly bark 
Through tempests wild and whirlpools dark, 
And safely by the dangers ride 
With practiced wisdom for his guide. 

He needs must pass refining fire, 
That he such wisdom may acquire; 
And this is not an unjust rule 
Adopted by tyrannic school, 
For all who study Nature must 
At once admit that it is just; 
Since by this rule it is that all 
Have chance to stand or backward fall; 
But he who falls is not thus lost. 
Nor is condemned in hopeless cost — 
But for a time is backward set. 
Another chance again to get, 
When he the ordeal then may pass 
And come out foremost in the class! 



MATERIALIST AND SPIRITUALIST 217 

The grain that has not well been ground, 
Must pass another grinding round; 
It must be ground and ground again, 
'Till not the slightest fault remain. 

All forms of life, where'er they be, 
On any earth, in any sea, 
From deepest caves of darkest night 
To regions of sublimest light. 
Must needs this trying journey take 
Ere they the vast ascent can make 
From Nature's lowest primal cells 
To where Infinite Being wells. 

Some stumble on the winding track; 
Some stitches drop, and must go back 
To mend the work that they have done 
Ere they the journey further run. 

Some, led estray by baleful light. 
Far wander from the paths of right, 
Till, to their bitter cost, they find 
How far they have been left behind. 
And some, o'erwhelmed by low desire, 
Sink deeply down in mud and mire. 
And grope amid the sullen fogs 
That hang o'er dismal, filthy bogs. 

While he, whose pure, aspiring mind 
From selfish dross has been refined, 
Will lightly trip the highway o'er 
That leads to the celestial shore! 

But none are lost upon the way. 
Nor in eternal darkness stay — 
For long although the journey be. 
All will at last salvation see; 
Since flame divine, though burning low,. 
With living light must ever glow, — 
'T was kindled by the breath divine. 
And hence its beams must ever shine. 



2i8 MATERIALIST AND SPIRITUALIST 

Stern Justice keeps a strict account, 
Which ever shows the exact amount 
Of all on earth that man may do, 
His debits and his credits, too. 

This book himself he must inspect; 
All errors shown he must correct; 
Of sums there found to be unpaid, 
Full payment must by him be made 
Ere he can pass the magic gate 
Which entrance gives to higher state, 
With credits found to make him meet 
Among the pure to take a seat! 

And thus, my friend, I think I 've shown 
That all on earth to man made known — 
By all that Nature clearly teaches. 
And all that Reason loudly preaches — 
By whispering breeze and tempest loud, 
By golden mist and angry cloud. 
By bloom that tints the rose's breast 
And hues that paint the golden West — 
By beams that wake the morning bright. 
And gloom that veils the brow of night. 
By Plope that in man's bosom springs, 
And by the cheerful song she sings — 
By all his yearnings, sighs, and fears. 
His anguish deep and bitter tears, 
And even by the sad mistakes 
That on life's journey oft he makes — 
'Tis shown, that in some future he 
Will in condition higher be. 

Now, if I 've made this clear to you, 
And you're convinced that it is true, 
I '11 not regret the little time 
I 've spent in knitting up this rhyme; 
Nor value what it may have cost, 
Nor ever think it labor lost. 



MATERIALIST AND SPIRITUALIST 219 

Then, friend! do not despondent be 
When you look on humanity, 
For Nature does the best she can 
With what she has to make the man. 

MATERIALIST. 

If what you teach, my friend, be true, 

I surely think, and so must you. 

That most now journeying on the way 

Will on the road a long time stay— 

For few, I think, there can be found 

Who have as yet been so well ground, 

Nor will they ever be until 

They many times have passed the mill, 

As to be fit, as I can see, 

For such refined society — 

For men are but a selfish lot; 

Each strives to keep what he has got, 

No matter how it has been gained 

Or through what means it was obtained, 

And hardly willing is to let 

The others have what they should get. 

But many thanks for what you 've taught. 
And for the ideas I have caught, — 
For they to me indeed are new. 
And I can't say but that they 're true, 
And much I hope that they to me 
May of some sterling profit be. 

■San Francisco, 18S9. 



THE ANCESTRY OF MAN: 

A SOLILOQUY. 



Darwin! thou reasonest well, else whence this love 

Among the race of man of savage things ? 

Why does the cruel hunter love to kill, 

E'en though his greedy maw be gorged with flesh 

Of slaughtered beast and bird ? 

Why does the angler, 
With baited hook, beguile the harmless fish. 
And snatch it from its crystal home for sport, 
When not impelled by hunger ? 

Old habits tell, man can't forget the time, 
In the dim long ago, when with a savage claw 
He seized his prey, and tore with fang6d tooth 
His victim limb from limb, and drank its blood 
Ere yet its quivering heart had ceased to beat. 

The stately dame and dainty damsel, still 

Though clothed in glossy silks and snowy lawns, 

In dress and gait give unequivoc signs 

Of memories of the lost ancestral tail. 

And jewell'd hand, and neck, and ear, but tell 

Of savage times, ere the historic fig-leaf 

Became the simple cloak of modesty. 

The dreamy poet still delights to sing 

Of running brooks, of wood and meadow green, 

Of wintry storms, and whispering breezes soft, 

Because his native instincts lead him back 

To the time when his naked ancestors 

Dwelt in caves and dens, and through the forest roamed 

In search of food, climbing the lofty tree. 

And, aided by the useful caudal member. 

Swung from branch to branch to pluck the ripened fruit,. 



THE ANCESTRY OF MAN. 2 

Or stretched their hairy Hmbs upon the earth, — 
Without the faintest dream that Plato e'er 
In academic groves would teach his high 
Philosophy, or Virgil sing beneath 
The spreading beech his pastoral melodies. 

Therefore, friend Moses! I am forced to think 

That in the quaint old story told by thee 

Of a fair Eden and the fall of man 

From some high state of angel innocence. 

There must be some mistake. 'T is very pretty, 

And well wove, but of too thin a texture 

To stand the test of rigid criticism. 

For if man e'er lived that pure and simple life 

Described by thee, amid the bowers of Eden, 

Some remnant of his early innocence 

Would surely yet remain. 

Q. E. D. 

San Francisco, 1878. 



THE IMPROVEMENT OF THE HUMAN RACE. 



Ye teachers, all! who wish to see 
The world relieved from deviltry, 
And from the reign of Vice set free, 

Be still and hear, 
And give with patience now to me 

A list'ning ear. 

Since Nature works by fix^d laws, 
Come, for a season, let us pause 
And seek to find the cracks and flaws 

In the compound; 
Which such dark scenes of sorrow cause 

As now are found. 

This is a truth that all must know: 

From fountains pure clear streams will flow; 

On healthy plants good fruit will grow; 

And, too, we see 
As crow old cocks, the young will crow, 

And like will be. 

We know that fruits of pleasant taste 

With little trouble can be traced 

To bitter things, which first were placed 

By Nature's hand 
In forest wild and desert waste 

Of every land. 

The flocks and herds of gentlest breed 
Which in the peaceful meadows feed, 
And well supply demanding need, 

By culturing care. 
Were raised from wild and vicious seed 

To what they are. 



IMPROVEMENT OF THE HUMAN RACE. 223. 

If fruits that grow in field and grove, 
And beasts that through the forests rove, 
By care are raised to higher groove — 

Then surely can 
The same wise thought and care improve 

The race of man! 

And since no labor do we spare 
In culturing apple, peach, and pear, 
And in improving horse and mare, 

We surely then 
Should exercise some prudent care 

In rearing men. 

If we will look on plant and tree, 
And bird, and beast of low degree,. 
And, too, upon humanity, 

We '11 surely find 
That as the sire the son will be 

Of every kind. 

From common clay or metal base 
Ne'er yet was wrought a costly vase;. 
Nor e'er did artist paint a face 

Or picture grand, 
Or forms of classic beauty trace 

On ocean sand. 

This truth is taught in every school: 
That Nature works by fix^d rule; 
That matter gross is but the tool 

Through which is made 
The lofty sage or drivelling fool 

Of every grade. 

Man can't control the rolling tide,. 
Nor turn the deadly bolt aside; 
Yet, by his reason, well applied. 

He still may steer — 
And on life's current safely ride 

From dangers clear. 



224 IMPROVEMENT OF THE HUMAN RACE. 

No picture e'er by Art was made 
Save by combining ligiit and shade, 
By colors mixed in proper grade; 

Nor structure grand, 
Unless the chiselled stone was laid 

By skilful hand. 

Nor ever yet, since time began 
And the Almighty fiat ran: 
" Now let us make the race of man! " 

Was creature made, 
Save by the laws and by the plan 

By Nature laid. 

If man would not on others draw 
Such vengeance of infracted law 
That they shall curse the hour they saw 

The light of day — 
Then let him, with deep, reverent awe, 

Heed well his way! 

And let his soul in concord be 
With pictures bright of purity, 
Such as the gentlest spirits see — 

And on his ear 
Let fall such notes of melody 

As angels hear. 

And let Creation's temple be 
A bower of love and harmony; 
From all unholy passion free. 

And lewd desire, 
That fill the soul with deviltry 

And hellish fire. 

Then things of beauty may be born — 
As bright as flowers at rosy morn, 
Or dew-drops on the blooming thorn; 

And we may see 
The sweetest graces then adorn 

Humanity. 
San Francisco, 18S5. 



THE REALIST AND THE DREAMER. 



REALIST. 

Wake up, old man! nor waste your time 
In thoughts of things you call sublime, 
The dreaming fancies that you nurse 
Will put no money in your purse — 
Life is an active, stirring game, 
In hot pursuit of wealth or fame; 
A struggling strife through thick and thin, 
In which the object is to win. 

Behold yon solid millionaire! 
He builds no " castles in the air," 
His grasping mind is only bent 
On deeds and bonds, and cent per cent; 
A worthy churchman is he, too, 
Who in the temple holds a pew; 
He hires a priest and pays him well 
To guard him 'gainst a future hell — 
To him he gives up full control. 
All things pertaining to his soul. 
That his whole time on earth be spent 
In figuring up his cent per cent. 

He 's far too wise to waste his time 
In idle dreams and foolish rhyme; 
He gives his time to solid things, 
From which substantial profit springs. 

DREAMER. 

My practic friend, I must admit 
That on its head the nail you 've hit, 
For what I just have heard from you 
I must confess is strictly true — 
But, let us for a moment stop 



226 THE REALIST AND THE DREAMER, 

And take a glance at the workshop 
From which for her infinite ends 
All forms of being Nature sends: 

The butterfly, with flowery wings, 
The warbling bird that sweetly sings. 
The beasts that through the forests roam 
Or in the desert find a home, — 
The savage, with his bow and arrow, 
The farmer, with his plough and harrow, 
The artisan, with cunning tools, 
The scholar, with his classic rules — 

The merchant, with his costly wares, 
The banker, with his heavy cares, 
The glutton, with his appetite. 
And dreamer, with his second sight, — 
Are all just as they have been made. 
Of every form and every grade — 
All follow out their nature's bent. 
In doing which they are content. 

The well-fed ox and fatten'd swine 
While sleeping in the bright sunshine 
Have reached the highest point of bliss. 
And wish no better world than this. 

The miser, who himself has sold 
To Mammon, in his thirst for gold. 
By his long-hoarded treasure lies. 
And 't is his heaven till he dies. 

The student trims his midnight lamp 
In garret lone and cellar damp, 
In search of something, which, when got,. 
By practic ride, will profit not. 

Ambition seeks to write its name 
High on the lofty dome of Fame, 
And, this to do, by day and night 
Will mino-le in the fiercest fight. 



THE REALIST AND THE DREAMER. 227 

The man of purely practic sense, 

Who measures things by pounds and pence, 

Will rack his brain to find the thing 

Which will material profit bring — 

While the wild dreamer, like myself, 

All thoughtless in the search of pelf. 

Will still the voice of carking Care 

By building castles in the air! 

And, truth to tell, I must confess, 

That much I am inclined to bless 

Kind Nature, who to me has given 

This power to make myself a heaven. 

If I can wave a magic wand. 
And thus create a fairy land. 
Where flowers of sweetest fragrance grow 
And perfumed breezes ever blow — 
Where I can find a short relief 
From sorrow dark and bitter grief, — 
(Which s(ll on earth must sometimes meet 
Who tread life's paths with weary feet) — 
It is a goodly gift indeed 
That gives a port in time of need, 
Where no wild storms in anger howl. 
Nor muttering thunders ever growl — 
And though the picture will not stay, 
But, like the rainbow, melts away, 
Whene'er I will, the magic wand 
Creates again the fairy land! 

Therefore, my friend, I 'm well content 

That I 've much time in dreaming spent; 

For though it has no money made, 

It surely has a profit paid. 

And if, when we with earth have done. 

When all life's ebbing sands have run. 

When marble palace is but dust, 

And wealth 's consumed by moth and rust, 

These airy dreams are found to be 

In very truth reality, — 



228 THE REALIST AND THE DREAMER. 

Who then, when this wild race is run, 
Will have the highest prizes won ? 

So then, my friend, from day to day 
I '11 dream my earthly life away, 
While you, perchance more wise than I, 
May go on digging till you die. 

San Francisco, i8S6. 



GOD IS LOVE! 

THE THEOLOGIAN AND THE FREETHINKER. 



THEOLOGIAN. 

Hold, sinful man! do you not dread 
God's holy vengeance on your head 
For making such a wicked speech 
And for the doctrine that you teach ? 
Have you no reverence for the Church, 
Whose ministers you would besmirch, 
By harshly judging what they do 
And bringing all their faults to view ? 
Do you not know that you are lost 
And can be saved but at the cost 
Of sinless blood, which has been shed 
By Him who has for sinners bled ? 
That, by the guilt of Adam's sin 
You have from birth condemned been, 
And justly might be doomed to dwell 
Forever in a burning hell ? 
And that, unless your ways you mend, 
God's burning wrath will thither send 
Your wicked soul, where it shall be 
Most surely damned eternally ? 

FREETHINKER. 

Your lecture, sir, is somewhat rough, — 
Your doctrine, too, a little tough, — 
And if with it you now are through, 
Come listen, while I preach to you: 

Some three score years and ten have passed 
(As I am told) since I was cast 
By Nature's laws and natural birth 
Upon this beauteous, smiling earth. 



230 GOD IS LOVE! 

I cannot comprehend the Cause 
Of Nature's never-changing laws 
Which acted in the drama played 
When I a son of earth was made — 
But this I know: that by this Cause 
I ne'er in aught consulted was; 
Hence cannot be, by law or fact, 
Made party to the little act. 
Which me has made, as I am now, 
With Reason's light upon my brow, 
A conscious being, with a mind 
That bids me seek if I would find 
Bright Truth; with Wisdom for my guide, 
And by whose laws I must abide. 

The Truth I 've sought both day and night. 

By Nature's laws and Reason's light, 

And, as with patience I have sought, 

I here and there have glimpses caught 

Of beaming rays that ever shine 

On Nature's book of law divine! 

But not in creed, or solemn rite. 

Have I e'er caught one ray of light 

In all my life, from early youth. 

That Reason taught me was the Truth — 

But as I 've read, from youth to age. 

Great Nature's book on every page, 

I 've found that Wisdom's hand divine 

Has pictured Love in every line! 

I see its sweet face 

In the bright, rosy morn. 
When the shadows have passed 

And the young day is born — 
In the soft, golden cloud 

That hangs in the West, 
When the sun has gone down 

And the day sinks to rest! 



GOD IS LOVE! 231 

In the bright, azure sky, 

In sunbeam and shower, 
In the hue of the leaf 

And bloom of the flower; 
In the dewdrop that sleeps 

On the lily's pale leaf; 
In the teardrop that hangs 

On the eyelids of Grief. 

I hear its sweet voice 

In the song of the bird; 
In the sigh of the breeze 

Its music is heard — 
Nor is the bright lightning 

That falls from the sky 
A glance of red wrath 

From a demon's fierce eye — 
And the thunder's loud voice 

In the lightning's red path 
Speaks not to the earth 

In anger and wrath; 
And the Angel of Death 

May bear in his hand 
A message of love 

From some happy land, 
Where birds ever sing 

And flowers ever bloom, 
Unchilled by the shadows 

That hang o'er the tomb; 
Where sorrows that rend 

The bosom on earth 
Are forgot by the Soul 

In the land of its birth! 

These tell of no law 

That calls to be spilt 
The blood of the sinless 

For another one's guilt ; 
But that each for himself, 

When his life it has run, 



232 GOD IS LOVE! 

To Justice must answer 
For what he has done. 

Therefore, my friend, as you may see, 

Your savage creed is not for me; 

No sinless blood would I have shed 

To shift the guilt from off my head— 

If wrong to others I have done, 

I must myself the crime atone; 

No sacrifice that others make 

From off my soul the guilt can take — 

My cheek would blush with burning shame 

If I should through another's name 

Gain entrance to society 

Where I unfitted was to be! 

But surely say I nothing can 
Against the gentle Son of Man; 
His moral teachings (though not new) 
Were like the Light, divinely true; 
He died, 'tis true; but, as I see, 
His death had nought to do with me. 

So, thus you see, my Christian friend, 
I am not likely much to mend 
My wicked ways, nor give much heed 
To what you call your Holy Creed! 

Where I may land, I do not know, 
When I am called from earth to go — 
But this, I know: where'er it be, 
It will be all right well with me; 
For sure I am, that I shall find 
Myself with kindred, and with kind. 
And that, because of what I 've done. 
Must take the lot that I have won. 

San Francisco, 1885. 



GOOD AND EVIL. 

THE PRIEST AND THE PHILOSOPHER. 



PRIEST. 

I HAVE been told, my learned sir, 
That you are a philosopher. 
And boldly claim (I 'm told) that you 
Can run life's stormy journey through, 
And o'er its angry billows ride 
And safely land on t' other side, 
With nothing more to keep you right 
Than Nature's laws and Reason's light- 
That you reject and do not heed 
What 's taught by every Christian creed: 
That man 's a sinner, doomed and lost, 
And can be saved but at the cost 
Of blood by sinless victim shed 
To take the curse from off his head! 

Deny a God of vengeful ire. 

And devil clothed in hellish fire — 

And, too, deny that man e'er fell 

From that high state where angels dwell, 

By act transgressive, and that he 

Thereby incurred the penalty 

Of being doomed when life has passed 

To be in outer darkness cast, 

And there condemned to weep and wail. 

'Mid fiery wrath and scorching hail ! 

PHILOSOPHER. 

My cleric friend, indeed 'tis true 
That I am steering my canoe 
Across the deep, as best I can. 
Just as becomes a reasoning man. 



234 GOOD AND EVIL. 

I ne'er the trip have made before, 
Nor e'er the road have travelled o'er; 
But, though the path be somewhat blind, 
The proper course I try to find. 

Therefore, my friend, if you can show 
The road direct for me to go, 
And that my present steering-way 
Is leading me from truth astray, — 
I will at once my "topsails back," 
And try it on another tack ; 
So give me, if you can, a guide 
To pilot me across the tide! 

PRIEST. 

The way so plain is made by mark. 

That you can find it in the dark; 

But, first of all, you must believe 

That you your mother did conceive 

In that dark guilt and mortal sin 

In which you all your life have been; 

That from this net in which you 're tangled, 

And which your innocence has strangled, 

You can alone redeemed be 

By Him who shed His blood for thee. 

All this is taught in Sacred Writ, 
And is explained by those who sit 
In holy places, to expound 
The sacred doctrines therein found. 

PHILOSOPHER. 

I 've read your Bible to the end; 
Have looked into the ancient Zend; 
Have wisdom in the Vedas sought. 
And studied, too, what Buddha taught; 
Have read the thoughts of every age — 
Of ancient seer and modern sage — 
And from them learned that in all time 
Great minds have published truths sublime; 



GOOD AND EVIL. 235 

But in them all have failed to find 
Aught that could satisfy my mind 
That what their highest wisdom taught 
Was all my yearning spirit sought. 

I 've caught the sunbeam in its flight, 
And watched the beaming stars by night; 

I 've looked upon the grazing herd, 
And listened to the warbling bird; 

I 've looked upon the blooming flower 
When bathed in dew or crystal shower; 

I 've watched the infant in its rest, 

Upon its mother's loving breast, 

And deep within my soul I 've found 

Far-reaching thoughts that ne'er were bound 

By any creed, and never can 

Be chained by power of mortal man — 

And these have taught me that yotir creed 

Can never satisfy my need ; 

That while it may suffice for you, 

For me it never can be true. 

PRIEST. 

If you reject the written Word, 
And disregard ''Thus saith the Lord,'" 
And set aside the rules of faith 
Which in plain language sternly saith : 
He that believeth not shall be 
Most surely damned eternally, ' ' 
Then, tell me now, if this you can. 
By what secure and certain plan 
Do you expect or hope to be 
Released from such dark penalty ? 

Are you so vain and foolish, too, 

So bold and arrogant, that you 

Will dare to doubt what God has wrought 

And what most holy men have taught ? 



236 GOOD AND EVIL. 

PHILOSOPHER. 

Blind faith I do not understand, 

Nor unchained thought can I command; 

My faith from clear co7iviction springs, 
And evidence conviction brings; 

He for himself who cannot think. 
Most Hkely will to nothing sink; 

Who dare not, is beneath contempt. 
And should from manhood be exempt. 

As to the sailing-chart which I 
Am shaping now my courses by. 
If you will calmly hear me through, 
I '11 try to make it plain to you, — 
And if you 're honest you will see 
That 'tis the only chart for me; 
That I must sail its courses still — 
Let it conduct me where it will — 
E'en though it lead me to that hell 
Where poor, misguided sinners dwell. 

Come, let us now in thought go back 
To ages dark of storm and rack, 
Ere oak was seen or poplar grew, 
Or flower was wet with morning dew: 

No man upon this rolling earth 
At that dark time had had a birth, 
Nor did he come until the laws 
For \\\'s, production found a cause ; 
And when he came, he was so low 
In being as to hardly know 
That he had wants to be supplied, 
Which clamored loud till satisfied. 

What comfort gave him was benign. 
And that which gave him pain, malign, 



GOOD AND EVIL. 237 

And from this principle of good 
Were born man's early views of God ; 
While that which always brought him evil, 
Produced its opposite — the devil. 

And these he ever sought to please, 
Good-will to gain, or wrath appease. 
By sacrifice, in offerings made 
Of every kind and every grade; 
Of early fruits, as made by Cain, 
And Abel, of his lambkins slain. 

And in those ages thus began 
All bloody offerings made by man — 
From fetich rite of lowest class 
To solemn form of highest Mass — 
Some curse from off his soul to take, 
Or for some crime atonement make. 

Thus, too, began iho. priestly trade^ 

Which in all ages man has made 

A slave to superstition's rule 

And of designing mefi a tool, 

From time when priest of Moloch stood 

By altar stained with human blood, 

To that of him who wears the crown 

To him by Peter handed down. 

And still proclaims himself to be 

Vicegerent of the Deity. 

In time this Nature-worship grew 
In higher forms to something new: 

In ancient creed, by Median laws. 
The lord of Good bright Ormazd was. 
While Ahriman, with devilish thought. 
Destroyed the good that Ormazd wrought. 

And this fierce war they ever waged, 
And battle wild between them raged — 
And thus has trouble e'er been found 
Upon the earth, their battle-ground. 



238 GOOD AND EVIL. 

By Vedic hymns, in Buddhic schools, 
Creative lord, great Brahma rules; 
While Shiva, the destroyer, mows 
Down all the grass that Brahma sows. 

And, too, the classic ages had 

Their spirits good and demons bad — 

Their gods celestial and infernal. 

Their regions dark and realms supernal, 

Where spirits dwelt 'mid Stygian gloom, 

Or roamed 'mid flowers of fadeless bloom. 

And, coming down to modern times. 
We find that in all Christian climes 
The same fierce battle rages still 
Between the good and so-called ill. 

That in all lands that are called civil 
Two kingdoms are of Good and Evil; 
Of one the Lord the Ruler is. 
While Beelzebub takes care of his. 

And this fierce battle still will rage 
Until there come a living age 
When man in Nature's laws shall be 
So well and clearly taught that he 
Will need no guide to keep him right 
Save Reason's voice and Wisdom's light. 

Then the dark rule of Ahriman 
With discord wild no longer can 
Disturb the peaceful vales of earth 
And strangle Beauty at its birth; 
But Ormazd bright will rule the land 
With judgment wise, and even hand. 

PRIEST. 

From all that you have said to me, 
An atheist you I take to be; 
That you deny the Infiiiite Causey 
Which ever is and ever was ; 



GOOD AND EVIL. 239 

Reject all sacred revelations 
Which have been giv'n favored nations, 
And contempt cast and ridicule 
Upon the Sacerdotal School. 

PHILOSOPHER. 

Oh, no; you very much mistake 
If me you for an atheist take; 

Back from the days of early youth 
I 've been in honest search of truth; 
Books have I read of ancient days, 
Have studied those of modern ways; 
And much have found of what is true 
In writings old and volumes new; 
But much in them that I have found 
Must be condemned by reason sound.. 

07ie book there is which ever speaks 
The words of truth to him who seeks 
For wisdom in great Nature's laws 
In tracing from Effect the Cause : 

This book is writ in letters bright. 
And can be read by day or night 
By all who look with searching eyes 
Upon the earth, or to the skies! 

'T is writ upon the blooming rose, 
In summer dew and Arctic snows. 
And on the rolling orbs of light 
That gem the ebon brow of night! 

'T is read upon the silent bier, 

In infant's smile and mother's tear; 

Its truthful language, too, is heard 
In voice of storm and song of bird; 

In shout of joy, in sorrow's sigh, 
And wailing voice of those who die: 



240 GOOD AND EVIL. 

In the deep yearnings of the mind 
Some brighter world than this to find, 
Where earth's discordant storms shall cease 
And harmony shall reign in peace. 

All that this book so clearly teaches, 
And all that Nature loudly preaches, 
Tell of a Great Infinite Cause 
Which all things rule by changeless laws; 
Of which First Cause I nothing know, 
Save from effects which from it flow. 

But this I know: that 'tis divine, 

And that in spirit 't is benign; 

That there 's no Power or Prince of Evil, 

Which superstition calls the devil. 

Nor do I dare to ridicule 

Aught that is taught by any school 

That leads the searching mind to see 

The goodness of the Deity; 

But ever in my soul revere 

Aught that may stay a falling tear, 

No matter by what creed 'tis done. 

Or from whose hand the blessing 's won, — 

And ever will I bow the knee 

Before the shrine of Charity; 

But never will my bitterest hate 

For selfish tyranny abate. 

PRIEST. 

If thus you think there is no devil, 
How then account for what is evil ? 

You must admit that there is sin; 
Then God must have its author been — 
Since He controls and rules all things. 
There nothing is but from Him springs. 

So now, my friend, if you are fair. 
You must confess I 've got you where 



GOOD AND EVIL. 241 

You must admit that there 's a devil, 
Or else that God created evil! 

PHILOSOPHER. 

Now, if you '11 keep your judgment level, 
I think I '11 prove there is no devil 
Or principle of hellish ill 
Moved by an independent ivill : 

Disturbance of electric laws, 

Of storm and tempest is the cause; 

The lightning rends the gnarled oak 
And slays the shepherd by its stroke; 

The rain descends, and leaf and flower 
Are watered by the crystal shower; 

The fields are bright, the meadows green, 
And smiles on Nature's face are seen! 

As jewels bright are found to be 
In settings of adversity. 

As cloud of darkest gloom we find 
Is with the brightest silver lined, 

As life from death in beauty springs. 
And seeming evil blessing brings,— 

So howling storms o'er earth that sweep 
And rouse to wrath the rolling deep. 
Upon their wings no vengeance bear, 
But healthful make the poisoned air. 

The golden clouds that softly rest 
Upon the evening's rosy breast 
Have surged and boiled in rolling rack, 
'Mid lightnings fierce and tempests black. 

In all the realms of changing form 
There must be contrast— c^/w and storm ; 
But from the night comes forth the morn, 
And beauty from decay is born! 



242 GOOD AND EVIL. 

The stars that shine so bright at night 
Are lost to view in morning light; 
And colors which are bright by day, 
All fade and die in twilight gray. 

Deep down in Nature's lowest caves 
The lightnings flash and tempest raves, 
But they obey imperious laws 
Which spring from an harmonious cause, 
And the wild discord that they make 
Are but their struggles fierce to take 
A higher form, that they may be 
In more accordant harmony. 

From law infracted, discord springs; 
While law obeyed, sweet concord brings; 

The tuneful harp, when rudely smote, 
Will give a harsh, discordant note; 

Sweet concord is where angels dwell, 
But discord ever makes a hell! 

No other heaven or hell I know 
To which the good and evil go. 



From what you say, I fear you 've been 
So hardened in the ways of sin, 
And up to unbelief so given 
That you can never merit heaven. 

But still for all, if you will pray 
For living faith, you nathless may 
At last be led the truth to see, 
And thus from bondage be set free! 

But you must first crush out all pride, 
And reason, too, must lay aside. 
And naked come as one condemned. 
In fetters bound, in prison hemmed — 
Who has no claim to pardoned be 
In time or in eteriiity. 



I 



GOOD AND EVIL. 243 

If you 'II do this, and will take heed 
To what is taught in Holy Creed, 
I think you may (but cannot tell) 
Escape a fearful — future hell! 

PHILOSOPHER. 

My reverend sir, I 've heard you through. 

And truly I 'm obliged to you; 

But the positions that you take, 

And the conditions that you make, 

Not one grain easier are for me 

Than two and two can make but three. 

And, furthermore, I would not be 
At home among society 
Of those who had so slavish been 
That they might be received therein. 
As eyes to shut to Reason's light 
In seeking for the " Path of Right." 

Oh, no; for still, where'er I be. 
My thought immortal must be free ! 

So you your course can still pursue, 
If 'tis the best, you think, for you — 

While I, with independent will. 
Will travel on my journey still 
Across life's dark, tempestuous tide. 
With my best reason for my guide; 
And will with resignation take 
Such lot as for myself I make. 



San Francisco, 1890. 



AN APOLOGY FOR THE DEVIL. 



You have, old Smokey, been abused, 
And by mankind (I think) misused, 
By gospel clubs been beat and bruised 

And scapegoat made; 
Of wicked games have been accused 

Which you ne'er played. 

'Tis charged that, when the earth was new, 
Of human dwellers there were two. 
That then, with devilish cunning, you 

A trap did set, 
By which those silly ones you drew 

Into your net! 

In every wicked plot that 's been 
Concocted 'mong the human kin 
In this sad world of crime and sin 

In times gone by, 
'Tis charged you've had a finger in 

The devilish pie — 

Since first the cunning net you wrought 
Which our first parents deftly caught 
And them to dark perdition brought, 

Down to this time, — 
When honors high by gold are bought 

In every clime! 

You're charged with blood in battle spilled; 
With death of those by murder killed; 
Of those who died whe7i Nature willed 

By her own laws; 
Of every mortal grave that 's filled, 

ThaX youWe the cause. 



AN APOLOGY FOR THE DEVIL. 

Of all the crime that e'er was done; 
Of every wicked rig that 's run 
Beneath the ever-shining sun — 

You 're charged to be 
The all-promoting Wicked One 

Who raised the spree! 

I surely think that 'tis unfair 

That you are made the blame to bear 

Of all the crimes that rampant are 

On every hand, 
Which sorrow bring and dark despair 

In every land. 

For, truth to tell, it seems to me 
That every mortal held should be 
For all the wicked acts which he 

Himself may do; 
That he should blush if them he 'd see 

All laid to you. 

I trust, friend Sooty, that you may 
With kindness take the words I say, 
Nor think that / but wish to play 

A game to make 
Fair weather for myself some day 

And win a stake! 

And trusting, too, that, by and by, 
When man shall cease to thieve and lie, 
And crime and wrong from earth shall fly- 
That you '11 find peace; 
That then this devilish hue and cry 
'Gainst you will cease. 

San Francisco, September 24, 1893. 



245 



THE UNPARDONABLE SIN. 



If one will ever damned be 
Beyond remede, eternally — 
It surely will be he or she 

Who lives alone 
For selfish ends, and Charity 

Has never known. 

The wretch who in a prison lies, 
Who in a dungeon hopeless sighs, 
And by the hangman justly dies, 

Redeemed may be, — 
And, in some place beyond the skies, 

Salvation see! 

But he who lives for self alone — 
Whose heart is like the insensate stone— 
Who one kind thought has never known- 

When life has passed 
Will, 'mid disgusting offals thrown. 

Aside be cast — 

To pass again the grinding mill. 
And thus be cleansed from filth, until 
He fitted is some place to fill 

In that deep plan 
Which Nature laid and works by still 

To make a man. 

San Francisco, 1887. 



A CHAT WITH HORATIO. 

SOME PHILOSOPHIC ADVICE ABOUT HORNETS. 



Horatio, friend! there sure must be 
Some higher court of equity 
Than e'er is found in earthly lands, 
Where scales are held by mortal hands — 
Since things on earth are so much mixed 
That, by no means can they be fixed 
In any way to harmonize 
With what is just in Reason's eyes. 

When I have done some generous act — 
(Have sacrificed myself, in fact). 
With kind intent, and single eye, 
I 've found at last that oft thereb}^ — 
Although I 've done my very best — 
I 've waked a devilish hornets' nest! 
And have been stung till I was blind, 
For actions which I thought were kind. 

Now, this, (as think I surely must), 
Is cruel, hard, and most unjust; 
Since kindness should, it seems to me, 
In other coin rewarded be. 

HORATIO. 

The student of the selfish school, 
Who works alone by square and rule 
And ne'er in business makes mistakes, 
Nor generous chances ever takes — 
Who well observes the statute laws, 
(But acts alone from selfish cause). 
Who, in his dealings and his ways, 
Will nothing do unless it pays ^ — 



248 A CHAT WITH HORATIO. 

In Mammon's court, by practic eyes, 
Is looked upon as wondrous wise! 
But, like the ice of polar seas, 
He 's only fit to chill and freeze — 
While he who acts from impulse good, 
(Without considering why he should). 
Will often find for what he 's done 
That he a hornet's sting has won; 
As he who plucks a fragrant rose 
Oft feels the thorn that by it grows! 
But prick of thorn or hornet's sting 
At worst is but a harmless thing. 
And never leaves (as will be found) 
A lasting scar or mortal wound. 

But he who gets his fingers burned, 

Will thereby have some wisdom learned 

Which him will teach to have a care, 

Since ihonis are fotmd where roses are! 

And, too, to let the hornets rest. 

And not disturb them in their nest. 

He, too, may find that he at last 

Will thankful be for sufferings past, 

Which sprang from deeds by which he thought 

Some good to others to have wrought. 

Then still pursue the path you've run, 
Still acting as you 've ever done, 
And ne'er regret that you 've been stung 
And sometimes had your withers wrung; 
Since sufferings past are soon forgot, 
(Which with remorse are mingled not). 
And will the brightest records be 
Within the book of memory. 

San Francisco, September 17, 1893. 



SUFFERING. 



I CARE not at all 

For the drops of gall 
That are mixed in the goblet of life; 

The scratches and pricks, 

The cuffs and the kicks 
That I get in the struggle and strife. 

The wild dreams of night, 

Although they affright 
And fill the mind with fear and dismay. 

Before the bright morn, 

When young day is born, 
Fly quickly and forever away! 

So the wormwood pills, 

And the bitter ills. 
Which on the way may fall to my lot, 

I take with good grace. 

Nor make a wry face, 
Since the bitter is quickly forgot. 

So long as remorse 

My mind don't unhorse, 
I '11 ride on the wings of the wind! 

The kicks and the bumps, 

The rubs and the thumps 
I '11 leave in the distance behind. 

If shadow and cloud 

My spirit enshroud, 
I know but awhile they will last; 

So, halting in gait, 

With patience I wait 
Till the gloom and the shadow have passed. 



^50 SUFFERING. 

And this is the why, 

Though the white snows lie 
On my bald and storm-beaten head, 

That the fire burns bright 

And the flame gives light, 
Though the strength of my manhood has fled. 

San Francisco, December, 1889. 



LAY ON, MACDUFF.' 



For fleeting years, (almost four score), 
I 've heard the angry breakers roar 
Upon a rock-bound, leeward shore, 

But still have stood 
Nor in despair gone down before 

The angry flood. 

And, though the weather still \s rough, 
And though the voyage still is tough, 
I will not yet cry out ^^ Enough f^^ 

But battle still, 
Relying on my mental stuff" 

And moral will. 

So let the weather still be foul. 
And let the angry tempest howl, 
And let the muttering thunders growl 

And lightnings fly — 
The darkest gloom of Fortune's scowl 

I '11 still defy! 

Though all the devilish imps of hell, 
And all the demons there that dwell, 
Conspire 'gainst me with purpose fell 

To work my fall — 
I will, (as I am armed so well). 

Defy them all f 

San Francisco, September lo, 1893. 



COMPENSATION. 



Despair not, Mortal, 'mid the tempests of earth, 

Nor let thy scourged spirit be sad; 
But wipe from thy cheek the fast-falling tears 

And learn to be hopeful and glad! 

For as sure as the day will follow the night, 

And the spring when the winter is o'er, 
The time will soon come when thy sufferings shall cease 

And thy spirit will sorrow no more. 

There 's a law that directs and governs all being — 
The high, the low, the small, and the great: 
" That as ye can suffer, so may ye enjoy," 
And this will thy grief compensate. 

The bright, polished blade in an hour will tarnish 

And soon be consumed by the rust, 
While the dull, sullen lead, unchanging, endures 

When the steel has crumbled to dust. 

The delicate rose that blooms in the morn 

Will fade ere the close of the day, 
While the uncouth bramble is sturdy with life 

When the rose has gone to decay. 

But the bright blade bears a keen, trenchant edge. 

And sweet is the breath of the rose, — 
While the lead is dull, and none care to gather 

The bramble in the forest that grows. 

The blast that scourges the sensitive soul 

Is unfelt by the well-fed swine; 
But the swine is content to wallow in mire. 

While the spirit must seek the divine! 



COMPENSATION. — A FRAGMENT. 253 

Then accept with joy the nature that dooms thee 
To the sufferings and sorrows of earth, 

For these are forgot like dreams of the night 
By the soul in the land of its birth. 

San Francisco, Januar3^ 1890. 



A FRAGMENT. 



Defiantly, 

Reliantly 

And giantly, 
Ever bear life's troubles; 
And you '11 find — they 're but bubbles. 



San Francisco, 1871. 



ADVERSITY. 



" Sweet are the uses of Adversity; 
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 
IVears yet a precious Jewel in his head." 

— " As You Like It. 



I ONCE have been young, but now I am old! 
Have oft been by Fortune left out in the cold; 
But still on life's journey I something have earned, 
And by long experience some wisdom have learned, 
Which, in a few words, I now here will give. 
As a lesson to those who may after me live: 

All pictures of love and beauty are made 
By contrast of color, by light and by shade. 
And forms are as changing as shadows that pass, — 
As bloom on the flower, or dew on the grass — 
New life ever springs from death and decay, 
As from the dark night is born the bright day; 
The sunshine is bright where darkness has been. 
And joy may be found where sorrow was seen. 
Then yield not to grief nor give way to sorrow, 
The gloom of to-day may be brightness to-morrow ! 

The hail-storm is bitter the while it may last, 

But the sunshine is bright when the tempest has passed. 

The sweet cup of pleasure, that it be enjoyed, 
With some drops of acid must needs be alloyed. 

Did the sun ever shine, 'twould weary the sight. 
And hence we welcome the shadows of night. 

He who by sorrow has never been scourged, — 
By wormwood and gall has never been purged — 
Like Jeshurun of old, may wax and grow fat. 
Yet still he '11 be but a swine for all that. 



ADVERSITY. 255. 

The man who in the hammock of luxury swings 

And hears but the song that Flattery sings, 

With his high-sounding name, his wealth, and his «//, 

Will count for no more than a cheek-painted doll; 

While he who can brave Adversity's gale. 

Defy its sharp sleet and cold, smiting hail, 

A hero will be, and greater by far 

Than he who wins laurels on the red fields of war. 

That man who, by kindness, may save from despair 

The outcasts of earth, (whoever they are). 

Whatever his creed or country may be, 

A Christian, a Jew, or "heathen Chinee," — 

A saint is as much in Charity's eyes 

As he who in the "odor of sanctity dies." 

Then judge not too harshly the outcasts of eartJi ; 
Consider conditions surrounding their birth; 
Let kindness and mercy to such ones be given 
Like soft summer dew that comes down from heaven I 
Condemn not the wretch who lies in the gutter; 
Nor him to his home who 's borne on a shutter; 
But give him a hand, and, like a kind friend. 
Bid him stand up, and help him to mend. 

And thus may be healed the wounds of the soul. 
And the sick one be made all healthful and whole. 

No mortal e'er lived who from folly was free; 
Perfection on earth we never shall see — 

Pure angels may dwell in regions sublime. 

But never are found 'mid the tempests of Time. 

San Francisco, Novembers, 1S93. 



A DREAM OF ERIN. 



'TwAS midnight, and the hand of sleep 
Had wrapped my soul in slumbers deep, 
When on my dreaming fancy fell 
A vision wild and strange to tell. 

I stood, methought, upon the shore 
Where loud the Atlantic billows roar, 
And as I gazed far o'er the seas 
I heard a voice upon the breeze. 

A thrilling voice! not soft and low — 
'T was not the wailing voice of woe. 
Nor did its deep'ning cadence tell 
Of song, or feast, or marriage bell. 

I listened — and the thrilling strain 
Was heard above the sounding main. 
And in its accents wild and grand 
I caught the tone of stern command. 

The words were in that ancient tongue 
In which the Celtic Minstrel sung. 
Ere silence dwelt in Tara's halls 
Or slept the harp on Tara's walls. 

And as I wondered what could be 
That voice that came across the sea, 
I saw a bright and queenly form 
Arise above the ocean storm! 

Her robe it was of emerald green, 
A shield she bore of glittering sheen. 
And firmly grasped within her hand 
I marked the ancient Celtic brand. 

I gazed with wonder and with awe 
Upon the queenly form I saw. 



' A DREAM OF ERIN. 257 

And as I stooped her voice to hear, 
These burning words fell on my ear: 

*' Awake! ye children of a land 
Long crushed beneath the tyrant's hand, 
And taught how bitter 't is to feel 
How heavy is the tyrant's heel! 

" Arise! and come from far and near; 
Awake! and come with brand and spear; 
Aye, come with manly heart and hand 
And battle for your native land. 

" And swear! by her deserted halls, 
Her ruined towers and broken walls. 
And by the tear the exile weeps 
And by the grave where Emmet sleeps— 

" Swear! by your own dear native land. 
Now crushed beneath a tyrant's hand. 
Which has for long and bitter years 
Been watered by her children's tears — 

" Swear! by your country's honored dead. 
By all the blood of martyrs shed, 
By all that e'er ye hope to see 
That Erin shall again be free! 

*' And let the Saxon bosom feel 
The vengeful thrust of Celtic steel; 
And then forever rent and broke. 
Shall be the tyrant's galling yoke. 

" And then again shall Erin be 
The land of hope and liberty! 
Then shall her exiled sons return 
To where their ancient altars burn. 

" Then shall the shamrock freshly bloom 
Upon the warrior's honored tomb, 
And Erin's banner proudly wave 
Above the patriot's sacred grave. 



258 A DREAM OF ERIN. 

" Then shall the bright-eyed maiden tell 
How her young lover bravely fell, 
And how upon the battle-field 
He died upon his glittering shield. 

" And as she weeps beside his grave, 
O'er which the laurel green shall wave, 
She '11 dry her tears, to think that he 
Died for his country's liberty. 

" Then let Erin's children far and near 
Awake! and come with brand and spear,. 
And let them all with heart and hand 
Strike bravely for their native land! " 

She ceased — and with a flashing eye 
She waved her shining brand on high, 
And fiercely smote the sounding shield 
And called her sons to freedom's field. 

Like the wild notes of Tartar gong, 
The clanging sound rose loud and long. 
And mountain peak and hill and plain 
Rolled back the echoing sound again. 

Anon, I heard the heavy tread 

Of arm^d men to battle led; 

And then I heard the thundering sound 

Of war-steeds prancing o'er the ground. 

A moment more, and loud and clear 
The clash of arms fell on my ear; 
Then I beheld a bloody field 
Where Celtic spear met Saxon shield! 

And wildly o'er the battle storm 
Again I saw that queenly form. 
With shining brand and flashing eye, 
Shouting, On! on! to victory! 

Stern was the strife — the emerald sod 
Was red with many a hero's blood, 



A DREAM OF ERIN. 259 

And Celtic spear and Saxon shield 
Lay shivered on the ghastly field. 

The battle ceased— the storm was o'er— 
I heard the clash of arms no more; 
But far and wide, o'er all the plain, 
I heard a deep, harmonious strain: 

'T was the proud anthem of the free— 
The glorious hymn of liberty! 
Now that the bloody fight was done 
And freedom's battle fought and won. 



San Francisco, 1865. 



THE CHILDREN OF ERIN. 



Speak kindly, I pray, to the children of Erin — 
To Patrick and Margaret, to Bridget and Barney,— 

As hardly they toil in the land of the stranger 

For the lone ones who dwell on the banks of Killarney. 

Their eyes they are bright, their cheeks they are rosy. 
They sing as they toil at reaping and sowing; 

But the songs that they sing, breathe a spirit of sadness 
That tells of the land where the shamrock is growing. 

In country, in town, in city, in village, 

In farmhouse and dairy — at the mouth of the cannon! 
The children of Erin forever are dreaming 

Of the land that is watered by the waves of the Shannon. 

In far-distant lands, wherever they roam, 

'Mid the snows of the North and the palms of the South, 
Erin's warm-hearted sons in their dreams still return 

To the green isle of their home, to the land of their birth! 

They dream of the cabin that stands on the hillside, 
Of the green, sunny meadows, where the primroses bloom; 

They dream of the fields where in childhood they played, 
Of the willow that weeps o'er a young brother's tomb. 

And sad is the heart of Erin's poor daughter, 
As she toils for a far-away father and mother, 

And her blue eyes are dimmed with the teardrops of sorrow 
As she thinks of a bright-eyed sister or brother. 

Then speak kindly, I pray, to the children of Erin — 
To Patrick and Margaret, to Bridget and Barney,— 

As hardly they toil in the land of the stranger 

For the loved ones who dwell on the banks of Killarney. 

San Francisco, 1861. 



TO THE GENIUS OF POESY. 



Hail! spirit bright of Poesy, 

In youth I loved thee well, 
And thy sweet voice in mine old age 

Is cheering to me still. 

I 've seen thee in the waving corn 

And in the blooming flower; 
I 've seen thee in the morning dew 

And in the silver shower; 

I 've seen thee in the rosy cloud 

And in the falling tear; 
I 've seen thee by the sleeping babe 

And at the silent bier; 

I 've heard thee in the raging storm 

And in the rustling leaf, 
Amid wild scenes of revelry 

And in the sigh of grief. 

The birds for me have sung thy songs 

Among the leafy trees; 
I 've listened to thy whispering voice 

Upon the evening breeze. 

Thou 'st been with me on meadow green. 

And on the desert sand. 
And my companion hast thou been 

In many a lonely land — 

Where Arctic storms in fury rage ; 

Where tropic breezes sleep; 
Where snow-clad mountains rear their heads. 

And on the rolling deep! 



For me the gorgeous palace thou 
Hast built with magic hand. 



262 TO THE GENIUS OF POESY. 

And from the golden clouds of eve 
Hast wrought the castle grand! 

And though these beauteous, airy things 

Did but an hour remain — 
When swept away, thy magic skill 

Hast built them up again! 

Thus thou to me hast ever been 

A source of life and light. 
Amid the toilsome hours of day 

And in the shades of night. 

Then let the miser dig for gold — 
The warrior seek for fame — 

And proud Ambition vainly toil 
To win a deathless name — 

While I, beneath thy sunny smiles, 
(More happy far than they) 

In listening to thy merry songs 
Will pass my life away! 

And when the bell shall strike the hour 

That calls me hence away 
To some fair land where golden beams 

On silver streamlets play, 

I know that thou 'It be with me theii, 

And that with gentle hand 
And laughing brow thou 'It lead me on 

To some bright, sunny land. 

San Francisco, 1885. 



TO A PICTURE OF TOM MOORE. 

As IN that speaking picture now, 
I gaze on that poetic brow, 
I hear, methinks, the melting strain 
Of Erin's tuneful lyre again. 

But, well I know the harp 's unstrung 
To which the Bard of Erin sung, 
And well I know that brow is laid 
Beneath the weeping willow's shade. 

And still Hibernia's Muses weep 
All sadly o'er the Minstrel's sleep, 
And breathe the sweetest memories o'er 
The hallowed dust of matchless Moore! 

And sleeps that tuneful spirit, too. 
Which from ethereal regions drew 
The thrilling notes of living fire 
That rolled along his magic lyre ? 

Oh, no; for though that harp of song 
Has slept in chains of silence long. 
And though on earth the list'ning ear 
No more its tuneful chords will hear. 

Still, still on Erin's meadows green, 
And by her lakes of silver sheen, 
Its lingering echoes yet remain 
In many a sweet, enchanting strain. 

And while the winding Shannon flows. 
And on its banks the shamrock grows. 
Love's sweetest strains on earth will be 
The music of its minstrelsy! 

And well I ween, in spirit lands. 
Where harps are touched by airy hands. 
The Minstrel still, in sweetest lays. 
Recalls the scenes of earthly days. 

San Francisco, 1868. 



TO THE MEMORY OF ROBERT BURNS. 



On banks and braes o' bonnie Doon 
Still sweetly sings the warbling bird, 

But he who gave its name to song 
Will never more on earth be heard. 

In springtime still the daisies bloom 
Upon the bonnie banks o' Ayr, 

But Burns no more will tread its braes 
Or tell his tale o' sorrow there. 

The streams around Montgomery still 
In murmurs kiss the pebbly shore, 

But Scotia's sweetest minstrel there 
Will mourn his Highland love no more. 

By Lugar's stream the summer leaf 
Still fades beneath the autumn's breath. 

But there no more the weeping bard 
Will mourn Glencairn's untimely death. 

His harp is hushed — its thrilling notes 
No more are heard in shady dell, 

But heathery hill and flowery brae 
Still of its tuneful numbers tell. 

His songs are heard in mountain glen, 
'Mid Highland hills, on sunny plains. 

And shady woods and meadows green 
Still echo to his magic strains. 

And while Ben Lomond proudly stands, 
And mountain streams their courses run, 

The Scottish Muse will freshly keep 
The memory of her gifted son. 

Birthplace of Burns, Scotland, August, 1848. 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



While ancient ages justly claim 
For their great sons immortal fame, 
And modern time may proudly run 
The record o'er of what it 's done — 
Stili, 'mong the sons of every clime, 
Of ancient age, or modern time, 
Whose names are writ on history's page 
As hero, poet, priest, or sage. 
None stands so high, or shines so bright. 
Nor sheds such beaming rays of light, 
Nor falls so grandly on my ear 
As does the name of Will Shakespeare! 

No jewelled crown by monarch worn. 
Nor sceptre by a tyrant borne. 
Such kingdom vast has ever swayed 
Nor has such lasting empire made. 

Nor e'er has sage of brightest thought 
Such wisdom spoke as Shakespeare taught. 
Nor e'er has harp of minstrel rung 
With sweeter notes than he has sung. 

The magic harp to which he sung, 
By Nature's hand was deftly strung 
With countless chords, which music made 
To catch the ear of every grade. 

One chord he touched — grand notes sublime 
Rolled from beyond the mists of time; 
Another smote— and instant he 
Held converse with Philosophy! 

Another waked — lo! dewy morn 

Breathed fragrance from the blooming thorn,. 



:266 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

And meadow green and mountain gray 
Grew bright in smiles of "jocund day "! 

Anon, a tragic chord he smote, 
And from it rolled the battle's note! 
And then a chord in wailings low — 
Of sorrow sang and hopeless woe. 

And then he touched the chord of mirth, 
And sang of humblest things of earth; 
He bade the clown, in homely speech, 
The simple truths of Nature teach. 

Whatever chord the Minstrel smote, 
It ever gave a truthful note — 
If he of war and battle sung, 
Wild stormy music from it rung; 
And if of love — the notes were soft 
As song of skylark from aloft! 

In thought sublime at home was he 

In every place, on land or sea, 

Where Hope may dwell, or Love may call, 

Or Pity bid a teardrop fall 

On Sorrow's head, and give a sigh 

For some who live and some who die. 

So, 'mong the sons of every clime. 

Of ancient age, or modern time. 

Whose names are writ on history's page 

As hero, poet, priest, or sage, 

None stands so high, or shines so bright. 

Nor sheds such beaming rays of light, 

Nor falls so grandly on my ear 

As does the name of Will Shakespeare! 

San Francisco, February, 5, 1893. 



LORD BYRON. 



Proud, scornful, and grand, like a king on his throne, 
High up on Parnassus stood Byron alone; 
For fearless was he in his own living age, 
And few are recorded on time-honored page 
Whose fingers could strike such lightning and fire 
As flashed from the chords of his magical lyre. 

He played with the lightning — with the thunder he spoke! 
He laughed at the tempest around him that broke — 
High converse he held with the angels of light, , 

And discourses dark with the demons of night. 

He sang to the stars in numbers sublime; 

With the ocean's wild song kept measure and time; 

Grand pictures he drew from the dark, rolling cloud. 

When the lightning was red and the thunder was loud— 

Yet could from the regions of grandeur descend, 

A teardrop to shed o'er a four-footed friend. 

San Francisco, February 8, 1S93. 



\ 



I 



HENRY FIELDING. 



In far-off Portugal his bones repose, 
But Fielding rests not there — he is immortal! 
And lives in every part of this wide world 
Where English tongue is spoken — and 't is pity 
His ashes sleep so far away from where 
Tom Jones was born, Amelia loved — and where 
Young Andrews kept the bloom of virtue fresh. 
Oh, England! the bones of all thy kings 
Shall long have turned to dust, when Fielding will 
By student and philosopher be loved. 
Smollett, Dickens, Thackeray and the rest 
May bow their heads in honor to his name. 
Fielding the true! thy characters have breath 
That will defy Time, Prejudice, and Death. 

San Francisco, February ii, 1893. 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 



Here, in Westminster's Gothic aisles, I stand. 
By tombs of sages, poets, kings, and heroes! 
The warrior's trumpet-tongue is silent now; 
The monarch's crumbling arm no sceptre sways; 
But still the poet's sounding lyre is heard — 
And wandering students come from distant lands 
To view the " corner " where his ashes sleep; 
And as I list the organ's pealing notes, 
Methinks I hear his tuneful voice and catch 
The cadence of his lofty notes of song, 
Which still will echo when these decaying tombs 
And these old Abbey walls have crumbled down. 
That man builds best, who builds with airy things, 
For they outlive the castles built by kings. 

London, England, July, 1848. 



THOUGHTS, 

SUGGESTED BY READING THE SCOTTISH POEMS OF 
JAMES LINEN. 



But that I think no spirit e'er 
From Azrael's land of gloom returns, 

I would believe these simple strains 
Are from the magic harp of Burns. 

What hand but his could touch the chord 
That wakes these wild and warbling lays, 

That tell of Scotia's heathery hills 
And of her bonny banks and braes? 

But in the silent halls of Death 
I know the matchless poet sleeps, 

And well, I ween, the Scottish Muse 
Still o'er his dust in anguish weeps — 

And ever have I thought, (till now). 
That, while in death the minstrel lay, 

The sorrowing Muses seized his harp 
And tore its tuneful chords away! 

But now, I know, with trembling hands 
They gently took the magic thing, 

And, weeping, hung it in their halls. 
Till other hands its chords could string. 

And other hands have strung it now, 
And waked its wild and witching strain, - 

For in these simple lays I 'm sure 
I hear its magic notes again. 

San Francisco, February 21, 1S67. 



THE ANCIENT GAEL. 



That rugged land is dear to me 

Where Arran's peaks o'erlook the sea, 

Whose rocky glens and mountains lie 

Beneath a gray and misty sky; 

Whose beetling crags o'erhang the deep 

O'er which wild storms in anger sweep, 

Where raging billows loudly roar 

And, thundering, shake the rock-bound shore. 

I love its glens and heathery hills, 
Its silver lakes and mountain rills, 
Its curling mists of shadowy form, 
Its fitful clime of cloud and storm. 
Its banks and braes and shady dells 
Where Nature's wildest spirit dwells! 

Aye, these I love! for tyrant hand 
Ne'er ruled that rugged, mountain land; 
'T was Nature formed its glens to be 
The home secure of Liberty! 
And my ancestral line I trace 
Through children of that savage race. 

Imperial Rome her eagles bore 
From tropic clime to Arctic shore, 
But cohort ne'er could make a stand 
In Caledonia's mountain land; 
Her savage children, wild and free 
As storms that sweep the northern sea. 
By their rude homes in battle stood 
And backward rolled the Roman flood. 

In Albion's vales and meadows green. 
Proud Rome's imperial works were seen; 
But savage Pict and fiery Scot 
By her proud arms were conquered not. 



272 THE ANCIENT GAEL. 

As I look back to ancient age 
And glance o'er Time's historic page, 
I hear the clansman's pibroch shrill 
On meadow green and heathery hill; 
I hear the answering slogan-cry 
From valley low and mountain high; 
I see in vale and shady glen 
The gathering of the chieftain's men! 

I hear the chief's wild battle-cry; 
I see him fall and bravely die! 

I hear the victor's savage shout, 
And see a wild, barbaric rout! 

From Morven's darkly-wooded vale, 
I hear a sad, lamenting wail — 
It is the bard's wild funeral strain 
O'er his loved chief in battle slain! 

Hushed is the wailing voice of woe, 
The wailing song so sad and low — 

Again the harper sweeps the strings. 
And now a vengeful song he sings — 

The sounding notes roll down the glen, 

And call upon the warrior men 

To lay aside their bootless grief 

And now avenge their fallen chief — 

Their ruined huts in ashes laid. 

Their wives and children homeless made. 

Born on a bleak and barren soil. 

Which little gave to culturing toil. 

And nursed 'mid scenes of strife and blood, 

Of mountain storms and rolling flood — 

These savage tribes were taught to be. 

Like their own mountain tempests, free! 

On many a ghastly field of death, 
O'erswept by war's tempestuous breath, 



THE ANCIENT GAEL. 273 

Like mountain oak or sea-girt rock, 
The Gael have met the battle shock; 
Have sternly stemmed the rolling tide, 
Have won the day or bravely died. 

On Caledonia's misty hills, 
And by her lakes and mountain rills. 
On Bannockburn and Flodden field 
The Gaelic spear met Saxon shield! 

On the famed field of Waterloo, 
To his traditions sternly true, 
The gallant Gael unwavering stood 
And bravely shed the crimson flood. 
And as he fell, the pibroch's strain 
In martial notes recalled again 
The heathery hills and mountains grand 
Of his far-distant, sea-girt land; 
And, as in death he closed his eyes. 
His thoughts were of her misty skies! 

In every land and every clime. 

In ancient age and modern time, 

The children of that savage race 

Have found on earth an honored place — 

On Indian plain, on desert sands, 
In western wilds, in savage lands. 
From where the tropic orange grows 
To limits of the Arctic snows — 
The Gaelic race on land and sea 
Have champions been of Liberty! 

And in the dark, primeval woods. 
Where roll the mighty western floods. 
Where ruined hut alone could tell 
How some backwoodsman bravely fell. 
That hardy race have sternly stood 
'Mid savage scenes of strife and blood. 

When Braddock met with sad defeat 
Where mountain streams together meet. 



274 THE ANCIENT GAEL. 

But for the hardy mountain men 
Whose fathers dwelt in rocky glen, 
The trained troops that fatal day 
Had to the savage been a prey. 

Ticonderoga witnessed, too, 
The valor stern and courage true, 
Which has on many a bloody field 
Of independence been the shield — 
'T was on that field where blood was shed 
Till dyed was earth with carnage red, 
That Morgan's rifles turned the tide 
And victory gave to Freedom's side! 

Proud Packenham, with all his boast. 
When landing on the southern coast 
With Wellington's immortal band, 
Which fame had won in foreign land, 
No match was found for Erin's son 
Who there immortal honors won; 
The western rifle proved to be 
More than a match for vanity. 
And Jackson there inscribed his name 
On the historic page of fame. 

But not on fields of blood alone 

Has this brave race its courage shown; 

When far removed from blood and strife,. 

In peaceful walks of civic life. 

They too have noble service done, 

And highest honors there have won. 

Let England boast historic fame. 
The sons of France an ancient name, 
The German race a noble line, 
Italia's sons their art divine — 
Let Spanish grandeur proudly trace 
The blood of the hidalgo's race. 
While I, with equal pride, will claim 
High honor for the Gaelic name — 



THE ANCIENT GAEL. 275 

Which on the bright, historic page, 
From earliest time of darkest age, 
Recorded is in every land 
Where rivers run and mountains stand! 

While I to other lands will give 
The highest honors while I live, 
Still dearer is that land to me 
Where Arran's peaks o'erlook the sea! 



San Francisco, 1S90. 



LETTER TO A FRIEND. 



I SEND you here some rhyming stuff, 
And some of it may be too rough; 
If so, I pray you will excuse 
My sometimes wild and wayward Muse, 

In fact, she is a saucy jade. 
And many a trick she has me played, 
Since first far back in early time 
She drove me into making rhyme. 

But, yet for all, she is not bad. 
For oft she 's made my spirit glad, 
And sorrow oft has whiled away 
And brightened many a cloudy day. 

And many a tear I 've seen her shed, 
(When none were near), o'er Sorrow's head, 
And o'er the wretched breathe a sigh 
When others passed unheeding by. 

So, as we've journeyed long together, 
In sunny days and stormy weather. 
Till life shall close, I hope that she 
Will tread the vales of earth with me. 



San Francisco, 1885. 



SONG TO WILLIE. 

[to WILLIAM C. RICE, THE PLAYMATE OF MY BOYHOOD.] 
(Tune: Castles in the Air.) 

O MONIE a year has fleeted, Willie, 

Syne we were lads together. 
An' i' the burnie biggit dams 

In fair or stormy weather; 
In fair or stormy weather, Willie, 

In fair or stormy weather. 
An' i' the burnie biggit dams 

In fair or stormy weather. 

Our footsteps, then, were lightsome, Willie, 

Our hearts were blithe and merry, 
As thro ' the autumn woods we roamed 

An' pu'd the hawthorn berry; 
An' pu'd the hawthorn berry, Willie, 

An' pu'd the hawthorn berry. 
As thro' the autumn woods we roamed 

An' pu'd the hawthorn berry. 

But I, sin syne, hae wandered, Willie, 

O'er monie a landscape dreary, 
Hae trod the thorny path o' life 

Wi' footstep aften weary; 
Wi' footstep aften weary, Willie; 

Wi' footstep aften weary, 
Hae trod the thorny path o' life 

Wi' footstep aften weary. 

But noo, I see the gloamin', Willie, 

The stars will soon be bhnkin', 
For fast adoun the western sky 

The sun o' life is sinkin' ; 



278 



SONG TO WILLIE. 



The sun o' life is sinkin', Willie, 

The sun o' life is sinkin', 
For fast adoun the western sky 

The sun o' life is sinkin'. 

Adoun the hill I'm stumblin', Willie, 

And soon will find a pillow 
Amang the ones who lang hae slept 

Aneath the drooping willow; 
Aneath its waving branches, Willie, 

Aneath its waving branches, 
Amang the ones who lang hae slept 

Aneath the drooping willow. 



San Francisco, 187 1. 



TO JOHNNIE. 

[JOHN CENTER.] 



Oh, Johnnie lad, what tho' for a' 
Upon your head begins to fa' 
Some airly skiffs o' wintry snaw, 

My aith, I '11 tak', 
That still you 're soun' in win' an' craw, 

In limb an' back. 

I '11 warrant me, you dinna feel 
Old age as yet upon you steal. 
That you can jig an' dance a reel, 

A sang can sing— 
An', on a pinch, can brawly heel 

The Highlan' fling! 

An' then your spirit— dQ\\ tak' me, man! 
Tho' ye hae reached twa score an' ten. 
There 's unco few 'mang younger men 

Can match with thee. 
Whiles crackin' wi' some cantie frien' 

In fun an' glee. 



San Francisco, 1870. 



¥ 



TO A SWEET SINGER OF THE SONGS OF 
SCOTLAND. 

[MRS. GEORGE CENTER.] 



Whene'er I list thy tuneful voice 

In that wild, lilting strain, 
I hear, methinks, the magic notes 

Of Scotia's bards again! 

I see her sunny banks and braes; 

I see her heathery hills, 
And hear far down her shady dells 

Her murmuring mountain rills. 

I see the glancing sunbeams bright 

On Lomond's bosom play; 
I see old Arran's rugged peaks 

O'erlook bright Rothsay bay. 

I hear the pibroch's thrilling notes 

In Fruin's lonely glen; 
I see the fiery cross that calls 

Clan-Alpin's mountain men. 

I see fair Ellen's tiny skiff 

O'er Katrin's waters glide; 
I hear McGregor's battle-cry 

On Lomond's mountain side. 

I see the old, historic bard. 
With beard so white and long. 

And hear him strike his sounding harp 
To some wild battle-song. 

I hear him in a wild lament 
Of deep, despairing grief, 



TO A SWEET SINGER. 281 

As bending o'er his wailing harp 
He mourns his fallen chief. 

I see the shepherds tending flocks 
That through the meadows rove, 

And hear the laddies whispering love 
In Kelvin's shady grove. 

I list the lavrock's silvery notes 

That greet the early morn; 
I hear the reaper's merry song 

Among the "rigs o' corn." 

Let fair Italia sing the songs 

That breathe of love and wine, 
And Gallic minstrels praise the land 

That gives the clustering vine; 

Let Switzer shepherds sweetly sing 

Of Alpine mountains grand. 
And German poets proudly boast 

Of their loved Fatherland; 

But give to me the simple songs 

That Scottish lassies sing 
While tripping o'er the flowery braes 

In sunny days of spring! 

I 'd rather hear the songs that tell 

Of Scotland's banks and braes, 
Than list to Patti's warbhng notes 

In famed Italian lays. 

The one, like sound of silver bell, 

Falls on the listening ear; 
The other wakes a sleeping chord 

That starts the falling tear. 

Long may that tuneful voice of thine 

Enchant the listening ear, 
And touch the chord that ever wakes 

The gently falliiig tear! 

San Francisco, 1886. 



ANSWER TO DAVID CALDERWOOD.* 



Noo, Davie, to this plea o' thine, 
Which ye hae brought 'gin me an' mine 
For four-score thoosan' crowns in coin, 

An' whilk, ye say, 
By laws, baith temp'ral an' divine, 

Ye '11 gar me pay. 

I, Robin, noo for answer say. 
That Davie gif ye '11 mak' me pay 
Sic fearsome sum, ye '11 surely play 

The deil wi' me, 
An' leave me on this blessed day 

No ae bawbee. 

See, Davie, gif ye canna' mak' 
Some wee abatemen', an' no tak' 
The vera sark frae aff my back, 

The bairnies' bed — 
An' leave me no ae single plack 

To buy them bread ? 

They tell me a', in ilka part, 
That ye 're a chiel o' legal art; 
That bulks o' law ye hae by heart, 

Frae Coke to Kent, 
An' that, guid faith! ye '11 mak' me smart, 

Gif ye 're intent! 

I 'm no like ye, a man o' law. 
But dread it as the deil's black claw. 
An' sooner wad I sleep on straw 
An' gang on crutches, 

* This poem was written in answer to the suit of David Calderwood 
(Scotchman) vs. Rufus C. Hopkins, claiming damages in the sum of $8o,ooo, 
on account of testimony given against an alleged Spanish grant in which 
Calderwood was interested. 



ANSWER TO DAVID CALDERWOOD. 283 

Than fa' aneath a lawyer's paw, 
Or in his clutches. 

An' for this reason, I noo mak' 

This proposition: that ye tak' 

Ae half the sum that 's noo at stak', 

An' ca' it fair, 
An' promise that ye ne'er will spak' 

About it mair. 

But, Davie, gif on fight ye 're bent, 
An' gif ye ne'er will be content 
Till ye hae gotten ilka cent 

In guid, hard cash. 
Then, by the ghaists o' Coke an' Kent, 

We'll hae a dash! 

I maun admit, in coort I swoore 
In suits o' Gordon an' o' Moore, 
Ye'r titles I had seen before 

An' scann'd 'em weel — 
An' that I thought 'em worth na mair 

Than scarts o' keel. 

An' noo, the same I do aver, 

An' on my aith to it I '11 swear, 

Let come what may— an' deil ma' care 

For a' ye'r blethers; 
An' ye may rave, an' rant, an' rair, 

An' brak' ye'r tethers. 

An' when I stan' agin in coort, 

Guid faith! we '11 hae some bonnie sport, 

For I maun testify in short 

Ye'r title 's forged; 
An' sooth, I '11 gie guid reason for 't 

Gif I am urged. 

For, gif some chiel wad speer aroun', 
An' rouk a wee aneath the groun', 
I '11 tak' my aith there wad be foun' 
What plain wad tell 



284 ANSWER TO DAVID CALDERWOOD. 

That this same deed that 's gangin' roun' 
Is fause as hell! 

I wad na' hae ye understan' 
That I think ye hae had a han' 
In gettin' up this grant o' Ian' 

That 's hawkit roun', 
An' kivers a' the hills o' san' 

About the toun; 

No, lad; ye no hae got the wit 
Ae Spanish deed like this to git, 
But only just enough to pit 

Ye'r foot intil it, 
An' when ye 've foun' ye hae been bit, 

To aiblins rue it. 

An' (let me whisper i' ye'r ear), 
Ye 'd better, laddie, hae a care. 
For gif some honest chiel wad speer 

Into the matter — 
Guid guide us, mon! but I do fear 

There 'd be a clatter! 

Sae, Davie lad, ye 'd better mak' 
The compromise o' whilk I spak', 
An' forty thoosan' shiners tak' 

An' ca' it fair, 
An' promise that ye '11 never spak' 

About it mair. 

Noo, Davie lad, come fare thee weel; 
Come, try an' be an honest chiel; 
Mind the Command s'A.y-, "dinna steal," 

As roun' ye 're jobbin'. 
An' then ye may defy the deil 

An' rhymin' Robin! 

[ The suit zuas dismissed. '\ 
San Francisco, 1866. 



ALLOPATHY AND HOMEOPATHY. 

[to a medical student who had just graduated.] 



Young Galen! so you 've all the tools, 
And, too, have learned the savage rules 
Taught by the Allopathic schools 

To college classes; 
And think that Homeopaths are fools 

And ignorant asses! 

You doubtless now, with knife and saw. 
Can amputate a leg or paw; 
With lotions soothe an aching jaw; 

A lax can plug — 
And, too, can cram a grumbling maw 

With drastic drug! 

Now, as you 've taken your degree, 
And are from college classes free. 
That all the world your skill may see 

And learn your fame. 
In letters gilt with an " M. D." 

Hang out your name! 

And, if on business you're intent, 
And have an eye to cent per cent. 
And gathering sheckels is your bent, 

You 'd better "figger" 
With some grim undertaking gent 

Or old grave-digger. 

No doubt, a bargain you may drive, 

By which both parties well would thrive; 

For, by the dead and not the live, 

The sexton lives, — 
Therefore, each death he can contrive 

A profit gives. 



286 ALLOPATHY AND HOMEOPATHY. 

Now, brother mine, come fare thee well! 
No doubt at all, that where you dwell, 
Bright Fame, with trumpet-tongue, will tell 

What you have won. 
And show, by tolling funeral bell. 

What you have done. 

San Francisco, 1886. 



GAMBLING. 



" All the world is but a faro-table, 
And all mankind but buckers at the game.'' 
—Shakespeare (?). 

What mean you by this silly prate, 
Wiiich in the prints you 've put of late, 
About our worthy Chief of State, 

Whose even hand 
Gives just alike to small and great 

O'er all the land? 

Come now, my honest rhyming friend. 
Before a man to hell you send, 
Awhile to Reason's voice attend; 

Come list to me. 
While I in doggerel verse defend 

Morality! 

What signifies the little game 

To which was given a Christian name ? 

Don't all mankind play just the same 

Whene'er they will. 
And when they win, are free from blame. 

And honest still ? 

And sure I am, you will admit, 
That those who in high places sit. 
Oft in their wisdom find it fit 

To lay aside 
The rigid rules by Virtue writ 

And let them slide. 

* To the author of the address to Governor H. H. Haight, in relation 
to the Mercantile Library Lottery, which address was in the shape of a 
satirical poem, accusing the Governor (who was a member of one of the 
Orthodox Churches) of inconsistency, in signing a bill passed by the 
Legislature of the State, permitting this lottery to be held in violation 
of the State Constitution. This poem was intended as a defence of the 
Governor. 



GAMBLING. 

As custom runs in earthly scenes, 
The *' end oft justifies the means"; 
And oft success from Justice screens 

In act of theft; 
And sickly Virtue often gleans 

What Vice has left. 

And now, my friend, I '11 prove to you, 
And make it clear as sunlight, too, 
That since old Cain his brother slew 

In jealous wrath, 
There's ever been a gambling crew 

Upon the earth! 

Come, let us run in rattling rhyme 
Far back along the path of time, 
And see what trace of pious crime 

We there shall find. 
Which in historic mud and slime 

Is left behind: 

You 've read, no doubt, the story old, 
Which in some book is quaintly told, 
How Laban to young Jacob sold 

His fairest daughter; 
Yet did from him the maid withhold, 

Though he had bought her ? 

And how the youth made up the odds. 
And even got with streaked rods, 
And in deep cunning beat the tods 

'Mong Laban's cattle; 
And carried off his household gods 

And other chattel ? 

And he, who great Goliath smote, 
Who touched a harp of sweetest note 
And sacred songs of praises wrote. 

Once slipped his foot — 
And in a witching petticoat 

Entangled got ? 



GAMBLING. • 289 

So, thus, on the historic page, 
We find that men of every age — 
The beardless youth, the hoary sage, 

Mistakes have made; 
And oft in fits of love or rage, 

The deil have played. 

Now let us bring our rhyming lays 
Down to the scenes of modern days, 
And take a glance at all the ways 

Among mankind, 
And learn the tricks the gamester plays 

To catch the blind: 

The blackleg plays at cards and dice; 
Politic gamesters are 77iore nice, 
And their constituents will entice 

With other things, — 
With champagne cocktails done in ice. 

Or brandy slings. 

The lawyer he will justice see 
With him who pays the biggest fee. 
And wrong will prove the right to be 

By clearest law; 
But in the robe of poverty 

Will find a flaw. 

The tyrant plays with human bones, 
And treads his march to human groans, 
Nor heeds the lonely widow's moans. 

So he can make 
A seat secure on earthly thrones 

And win a stake. 

The broker seeks the rising stocks; 
The sportsman seeks the gamest cocks; 
The clergyman the fattest flocks 

Within the stall, 
And listens to the loudest knocks 

That on him call! 



290 GAMBLING. 

So, look around, and you will see 
That life is one great lottery! 
That all of high and low degree 

Some game will play, 
And the sole question seems to be, 

If it will pay ? 

The people do the rulers make; 
So candidates their cues must take 
From those who do the dice-box shake, 

If they would win; 
And with a greedy hand would rake 

The prizes in. 

But, don't it seem, my honest friend. 
That, if these things you seek to mend, 
You should commence at t' other end 

To cure the cancer? 
For fountains pure, clear streams will send, 

As I will answer. 

Let honest wrath your pen inspire, 
And fill your soul with burning ire. 
That you may launch your darts of fire 

Against the trade 
That offers premiums to the liar 

Of every grade. 

But let not all your wrath be shed 
On 07ie devoted, helpless head, 
Who, after all that can be said, 

Has done no more 
Than follow where the customs led 

That went before. 

My rhyming rig I now have run, 
(Have had with it a bit of fun). 
And with the matter I have done; 

So then, my man. 
You now may weave the yarn I 've spun 

As best you can. 

San Francisco, 1870. 



WOMAN. 



'T WAS in some volume, quaint and old, 

I read when but a child, 
A story how some woman by 

A serpent was beguiled. 

Experience since has taught me 
That the story was all gammon. 

For never did a serpent hiss 
That could outwit a woman. 

There 's music on her wily tongue; 

There 's honey on her Hps; 
But he who tastes the sweetness, dies — 

While he the nectar sips. 

Search North, or South, or East, or West, 

You '11 find no living thing 
That such a deadly venom bears 

Or sports so sharp a sting. 

Beware the charm! I say, beware ! 

Whoe'er the charmer be — 
'Tis deadlier far, than death distilled 

From deadliest Upas tree. 

San Francisco, 1869. 



CUERUDO.* 

[to miss fortune.] 



Now, do your worst, you heartless wretch; 
Use as you will your sharpest switch, 
And you '11 not see one muscle twitch, 
For I am now cuerudo ! 

Pour on my head your bitterest hail, 
And sting me with your tongue, or tail, 
And I '11 but laugh beneath the mail 
That you have made cuerudo ! 

I 've ta'en your kisses, kicks, and blows. 
Been scorched in hell, and plunged in snows, 
I 've trod each path that anguish knows 
Till I 've become cuerudo/ 

Then go your ways, nor waste your toil. 
Nor needless thus your fingers soil, 
For all the blows you give recoil — 
And echo but cuerudo ! 

San Francisco, 1869. 

*The Spanish word " cuero'" means hide ; its derivative " cuerudo" 
means hide-thickened. When a Spaniard is so whipped of fortune as to be 
insensate to her blows, instead of saying, 

" Lay on, Macduff; 
And damned be him who first cries, ' Hold, enough ! ' " 
he says : " Strike till you 're tired ! I care not ; for I am now cuerudo." 



SLANDER. 



Beware that thing ! I say, beware ! 
And of its presence have a care, 
For if it touch you, like the skunk, 
'T will squirt on you what it has drunk. 

It worms its way, and creeping crawls. 
And seeks for filth in huts and halls, 
And makes a ball of excrement 
From things of vilest compound sent. 

Its maw it crams with the vile filth 
That it has gathered thus by stealth. 
But to disgorge the stinking mass 
On any one it chance to pass. 

It plasters on the old and young 
The filthy slime of its vile tongue; 
And, like a ghoul, digs up the dead 
On which the loathsome worm has fed. 

A creature low, of foulest breed. 
And spawned in stench, from vilest seed, 
A crawling snake, whose slimy trail 
Is seen where'er it drags its tail. 

Then ye who wish for peace on earth, 
Give this vile thing the widest berth; 
If ye do not, as sure as death. 
Ye '11 get a blast of its foul breath. 

San Francisco, February 2, 1894. 



FASHION. 



In the good old times (I 've heard my grandmother say),. 
When maidens arose at the dawn of the day, 
Put on their thick shoes, and straight salHed out 
To see what the cows and the calves were about — 

That their cheeks they were rosy, their limbs they were 

strong. 
They could dance you a reel, or sing you a song; 
A dinner could get, a garment could make, 
And their turn, on a pinch, at the washtub could take. 

That the only medicine that ever they took, 
Was prepared in the kitchen and giv'n by the cook; 
That no bear's-grease they put on their soft, curling hair, 
And their cheeks they were painted by sunshine and air! 

That 't was customary then, (sometimes at least), 
For the wife to make her husband a vest, — 
His stockings to darn, his troubles to share, 
And do all that she could to relieve him from care. 

That she nursed her own children, and soothed them to 

rest. 
And hushed them to sleep upon her own breast; 
Taught them to read, and taught them their prayers, 
And gave them all of a fond mother's cares. 

And if to fair or to market she went. 

She wanted no younger or gayer gallant 

Than the spouse of her youth, whom she always caressed, 

Though his manners were plain, and plain he was dressed. 

The young people then, they always were kind 
To the sick and the poor, the lame and the blind; 
That they heard with respect the voice of the sage. 
And always were silent in the presence of age. 



FASHION. 295 

But now, she said, — (and she drew a long sigh. 
Her spectacles wiped, and her knitting put by). 
Those good old times, I am sorry to say, — 
Those good old times have all passed away! 

Young damsels now turn the night into day, 
Which they spend at the party, the ball, or the play. 
Wasting the hours they should spend in their beds 
By getting soft nonsense crammed into their heads. 

They know not the use of thread or of yarn, 
A garment can't make, nor a stocking can darn; 
Can't even tell you where apples are found, 
If gathered from trees, or dug front the ground f 

They claw the piano till it sounds like a gong, 
And scream out the words of the last published song; 
But no mortal can tell, (nor matters it much). 
Whether it 's English, or French, Italian, or Dutch! 

But don't ask them to sing an old-fashioned tune — 

Such as the "Braes o' Balquither," or "Sweet Bonnie 

Doon," — 
They '11 laugh in your face, and stare at you straight. 
And tell you such things are quite out of date. 

The wife spends her days in fashionable calls, 
Her nights are devoted to parties and balls; 
She knows not, nor cares how her children may fare, 
But she leaves them alone to a hireling's care. 

Her husband is one who indeed that she loves. 

For he supplies her with silks, with shawls, and with gloves; 

As to all other things that she needs, or she wants. 

She gets them from younger and gayer gallants. 

She is never at home, except when it rains. 
And then she 's complaining of aches and of pains; 
The doctor is sent for — who, quite at his ease. 
Tells her she 's got some fashionable disease — 

Such as dyspepsia, bronchitis, or goodness knows what! — 
Some long, crabbed name, that now I 've forgot. 



296 FASHION. 

For although 'tis now on every one's tongue, 

I 'm sure 't was unknown when grandma was young. 

The doctor he tells her to lie very still, 
To swallow a draught, or perhaps take a pill; 
That no immediate danger he thinks he can see, 
But that without great care, perhaps there might be f 

San Francisco, 1862. 



THE MISER. 



A MISER lost a penny with the devil at play, 

And offered his soul to the devil for pay, 

" D — n your soul! " quoth old Nick; " pay me the stake! 

For your soul is n't worth the hell-room 't would take." 

San Francisco, 1868. 



FREAKS OF FORTUNE. 



" O Fortune, Fortune! all men call thee fickle .^^ 

—Shakespeare. 

He was a man of sterling worth, 
And bleak New England gave him birth, 
And prudent habits there he learned 
Gave him the name he justly earned; 
And she, his spouse, a daughter was 
Of that same land of stringent laws, 
Whose restless sons o'er all the earth 
Have famous made their land of birth; 
On ocean wave, in mountain lands. 
On sunny plain and desert sands. 
From Northern climes 'mid Arctic snows 
To where the feathery palm-tree grows. 

Time onward rolled — while toiling they 
With prudence trod life's rugged way, 
Till Fortune bright, with magic wand, 
Showed to their view a golden land 
Far brighter than the barren soil 
On which New England farmers toil. 

They left that land of pine-clad hills. 

Of stony fields and mountain rills. 

Where loud the ocean billows roar 

Upon a rugged rock-bound shore, 

And came to this far western land 

Whose shores were bright with golden sand. 

Now, having by experience known, 
That one but reaps where he has sown. 
They took the swelling tide at flood- 
By prudence made their reck'ning good. 
The current caught — and on it sped 
The way which them to fortune led! 



298 FREAKS OF FORTUNE. 

Far-seeing he, with wisdom laid 
Such plans as a vast fortune made; 
But still for pomp he did not care, 
Though many times a millionaire. 

But who so wise that he can say 

What freaks Dame Fortune will not play! 

The present we may clearly see, 

But not what will to-morrow be! 

No plan that man has ever tried. 
Can turn the dart of Death aside; 
The rich, the poor, the high, the low, 
When they are summoned, all must go, 
And leave their goods of every kind 
To those whom they have left behind. 

While still life's currents freshly ran, 

And while engaged in scheme and plan, 

Azrael's fatal arrow sped — 

The millionaire slept with the dead — 

Of all that Fortune to him gave, 

To him was left alone a grave; 

His power it had forever passed 

To use the wealth he had amassed, 

Or to direct what should be done 

With all on earth that he had won. 

With all his wealth, he now at last. 
Like withered leaf aside was cast! 

And thus the wife, whose early years 
Familiar were with carking cares, 
In her old age, by Fortune's wand, 
Had untold gold at her command. 

Such are the freaks Dame Fortune plays 
With man in all his earthly ways! 

With yearning strong again to be 
Where pine-clad hills o'erlook the sea, 
She eastward turned her aged face 



FREAKS OF FORTUNE. 299 

And sought again her native place, 
And there she reared a dwelHng grand, 
The proudest one in all the land, 
That there her widowed days might be 
In comfort spent and luxury. 

'Tis said, that Death once, long ago, 
(But when it was I do not know). 
While wandering by the Stygian river. 
Some arrows got from Cupid's quiver; 
And this is why, (as I 've been told), 
Queer pranks are played by young and old; 
Why Cupid often seeks to reign 
Where Death by right holds his domain; 
Why oft December tries to play 
Upon the rosy breast of May! 

If this be truth, or only fable, 

To answer now I am not able; 

But this, I know: such things I 've seen 

As go to show it might have been. 

That this great palace proud and grand 
Might long defy Time's wasting hand, 
'T was needful that some architect 
Its plans and structure should direct. 
That grace and beauty thus might be 
Combined with strict utility. 

Such architect was quickly found, 
Who soon appeared upon the ground, 
And went to work with all his skill 
To carry out the widow's will. 

Although he 'd passed the boyish time. 
He still was in his manhood's prime; 
For ruthless Time upon his head 
As yet no wintry snows had shed. 

But who '11 account for Fortune's tricks? 
The architect he builds with bricks! 



300 



FREAKS OF FORTUNE. 

But Fortune works by other plan 
In shaping the affairs of man. 

Ere the grand building work was done, 
The widow's glamoured heart was won! 
The architect had found a bride 
And a palatial home beside. 

How the hymeneal moments fled, 
And how the wedded season sped, 
The Muse says not; nor do I know 
If they flew lightly, or dragged slow. 

Few were the fleeting years that passed 
Ere she received the summons last 
To leave at once the earthly scene 
Where her late wedded life had been — 

She left her husband and her house. 
And went to join her former spouse! 
But how they met — none now that dwell 
Upon the shores of Time can tell. 

Some tears were at the funeral shed 
Upon the bier where slept the dead; 
But nothing long on earth can last, 
And soon the clouds of sorrow passed. 

The men of law then sought to find 
How much by her was left behind. 
And, furthermore, they wished to see 
To whom she 'd left her property! 

Of all the millions he had won 

By work in California done, 

The land where now his ashes rest 

Received no gift as a bequest; 

The lame, the blind, the poor, the old. 

All, all were left out in the cold; 

The little orphans all forgot, 

The widows poor remembered not. 



FREAKS OF FORTUNE. 301 

The crumbling dust within his grave 
Is all that his vast fortune gave 
To this fair State, where it was made, 
And where its author's bones are laid. 

Most surely, if the dead should know 
What 's passing on the earth below, 
The millionaire must often sigh 
At what on earth is passing by; 
His stock, his houses, and his lands 
All passed away to strangers' hands! 

Methinks his ghost is haunting still 
The stately palace on the hill. 
Whose silent halls are strangers long 
To mirthful voice and cheerful song — 
And as he wanders through its halls, 
Up from the past his memory calls 
All that his earthly life had been 
In all the scenes he 'd acted in — 
How he had toiled from youth to age, 
And less than nought had been his wage. 

The savage leaves his bow and spear 
To one to him by nature dear — 

The peasant dies and leaves his cot. 
But his loved son is not forgot — 

The hero of the battle-field 

Leaves to his heir his battered shield — 

And thus, upon tradition's page 
Is history writ of ancient age. 

Oh, well may California be 
Indignant at Dame Fortune's spree. 
Which her has robbed of what was won 
By work upon her mountains done! 

I see her angry Genius now. 

With flashing eye and frowning brow; 



302 



FREAKS OF FORTUNE. 

I see the burning tears of rage 
She sheds o'er her lost heritage; 

All, all has gone to strangers' hands 
To be enjoyed in other lands. 

San Francisco, August 7, 1891. 



A SOCIAL CHAT WITH THE DEVIL. 



One night, 't was at the witching hour, 
A night most dark and stormy, 

I sat beside my lonely hearth 
In meditation gloomy. 

The wind it blew its wildest note. 

The rain in torrents fell. 
And on the hollow blast was heard 

The mocking laugh of hell! 

As I sat thus, in musing mood, 

Oppressed with gloomy care, 
I heard a heavy footstep fall 

Upon the lonely stair. 

Slight heed I gave the coming tread. 

Supposing that some friend 
Had wandered through the midnight storm 

With me an hour to spend. 

When suddenly, through all the place, 

The fumes of sulphur came; 
The lamp that on my table stood, 

Burned with a ghastly flame. 

By this, I knew the coming one 

To be some imp of hell; 
But what he wanted then with me. 

For my life I could not tell. 

Dim, and dimmer, grew the light; 

The smell grew stronger, too; 
When suddenly, as by a spell, 

The door wide open flew! 



304 A SOCIAL CHAT WITH THE DEVIL. 

In stepped old Nick, with horns and hoofs, 

And took a seat by me; 
Curled up his tail and lit his pipe. 

And spoke right merrily: 

*' Your pardon, honest sir," said he, 
" For this untimely call; 
Believe me, I 'm in friendly mood, 
And mean no harm at all. 

" Just thought that I would stop a while 
And smoke a pipe with you, 
And have a little friendly chat. 
And take a glass or two." 

" Well, well," said I, " I 'm much obliged, — 
Let 's take a whiskey toddy! " 

" Bully for you, my boy," said he, 
"For that I 'm always ready, 

" Good whiskey, sir, is this you keep; 
I 've rarely tasted better; 
I thank you, no; I '11 take it so — 
I do not care for water! " 

" And now," said I, " I 'd like to know 
(And sure 1 cannot guess), 
What urgent business brought you out 
On such a night as this ? " 

" Well may you ask the question, sir, 
And surely you are right; 
For nothing but an urgent call 
Could bring me out to-night. 

" To tell the truth, I 've much to do; 
Much business on my hands; 
Now here, now there, and everywhere, 
In this and other lands. 

" But principally this Civil War 
That desolates the land, 



A SOCIAL CHAT WITH THE DEVIL. 305 

Most claims my earnest, fostering care, 
And most my helping hand! " 

" Your pardon, sir, — I 'd like to know 
Which side is in the right ? 
Then be so kind as tell me, sir, 
For which party you do fight?" 

" What do you take me for? " said he, 
" A trifling, puling boy. 
Who could be pleased with sugar-plums, 
Or tickled with a toy ? 

** I 'd have you know, that in this strife 
I take the part of neither; 
But, as best may suit myself, 
I fight for both, or either. 

" Two thousand years have almost fled 

Since first the tidings came, 
* Good-will and peace to all the world, 

Through Christ the Saviour's name.' 

** I 've fought this Galilean sect; 
I 've fought with bloody hand; 
I 've fought it both with fire and sword 
Through every pagan land! 

*' But, by the infernal gods of war, 
And by the imps of hell! 
I have been worsted in the strife, 
As my thinned ranks can tell. 

" But now, in this most Christian land, 
Where fierce the strife has burned, 
The tide of battle has at last 
To other channels turned. 

" This Christian folk have let me up, 
And pitched into each other; 
The father's hand against the son, 
The brother's 'gainst the brother! 



3o6 A SOCIAL CHAT WITH THE DEVIL, 

" I told you, sir, that in this strife 
I took the part of neither, 
But that, as best might suit myself, 
I fought for both, or either — 

" Don't care a d — n which party wins; 
Buckra-man, or nigger; 
All one to me are European, 
Congo-man, or digger! 

" But still I work both night and day 
To keep the war a-waging. 
And stir my stumps with might and main 
To keep the battle raging. 

** I whisper in the parson's ear, 

And straight he howls for blood! 
And makes a flaming speech for war 
Within the house of God! 

" And thus the work goes bravely on, 
In country, town, and village; 
Some are fighting, some are weeping, 
And some engage in pillage. 

" And fierce and fiercer grows the strife,. 
While Death a harvest reaps. 
And the fiery storm of ruin 
O'er all the country sweeps. 

*' And mingled with the voice of war 
Is heard the widow's sigh. 
And by the smouldering ruins, too. 
The homeless orphans cry. 

" And carrion birds, with hungry beaks,. 
Are gathering from afar. 
To make a foul and gory feast 
On the red fields of war. 

*' Oh, how I rub my hands with glee. 
To see this glorious sight. 



A SOCIAL CHAT WITH THE DEVIL. 307 

And laugh, and shout, with merry joy, 
To watch these Christians fight! 

** For well they do their bloody work 
As I could have it done; 
Nor man, nor devil, can do more 
To help my kingdom on. 

" But the hour is late, and I must go; 
So I '11 be on the jog — 
And, as its raining, I will take 
Another glass of grog! " 

San Francisco, 1862. 



PRAYER OF THE REV. EZEKIEL MUC- 
KLEWRATH. 



Make bare Thine arm, O Lord most high, 
To smite the rebels hip and thigh; 
Let all their homes in ruins lie, 

And desolation; 
Let not the curs6d crew come nigh 

To Thy salvation! 

Destroy them, Lord, both great and small, 
Both old and young, both short and tall. 
And let Thy fiercest vengeance fall 

On all the race; 
And hear them not when they do call 

On Thee for grace! 

Waste them, O Lord, with fire and sword; 
Blast them, we pray, in bed and board; 
And let the damned heathen horde 

With devils dwell; 
Where they may weep and howl, O Lord, 

In hottest hell! 

But Lord, we pray Thee, turn Thy face 
Towards Thy chosen colored race. 
Vouchsafe to them the special grace 

That mercy sends. 
And give to them a goodly place 

Among Thy friends! 

O guard them by Thy mighty hand. 
Till they wax strong upon the land. 
And like a mighty bulwark stand 

Of saintly odor. 
To banish far the heathen band 

From all our border! 



PRAYER OF EZEKIEL MUCKLEWRATH. 309 

Move them, O Lord, we humbly pray, 
To mix their blood with our poor clay, 
That we, ere long, might be like they, 

"A chosen race," 
And in this great millennial day 
Receive Thy grace! 

Dismiss us with Thy blessing. Lord ; 
Protect us in our homes and hoard; 
Guard us in our bed and board. 

Till once again 
We meet to hear Thy holy Word; 

Amen! Amen! 

San Francisco, 1862. 



I 



UNCLE SAMUEL'S FARM. 



Uncle Samuel was a farmer, sir; 

A worthy man was he, 
And true and honest was he, too. 

As any man could be. 

He had a lot of strapping sons, 

With brawny arms for toil; 
And they did tend his flocks and herds. 

And till his fruitful soil. 

He had, besides his sturdy boys, 

A batch of blooming girls; 
And some of them had raven hair. 

And some had flaxen curls. 

He loved to hunt, he loved to fish, 
He loved his whiskey-toddy — 

And, too, he loved a little sport 
As well as anybody. 

But still a kindly will he bore, 

And strict obedience asked 
From boy and beast, and serving-man. 

Yet none were overtasked. 

It happened once upon a time — 

'T was on a holiday — 
He with his rod a-fishing went. 

And left the boys at play; 

But bade them well to watch the farm. 
And see the gates were shut. 

And that the neighbors' pigs did not 
Into the garden get. 

And, too, he gave his rattling boys 
Strict charges not to fight, 



UNCLE SAMUEL'S FARM. 311 

And raise the devil on the place 
When he was out of sight. 

Now Abe and Jeff, the biggest boys, 

Were somewhat on the muscle. 
And when the old man's back was turned, 

They always had a tussle. 

And sometimes, too, this friendly bout 

Would turn into a row, 
If one should chance upon his nose 

To get an ugly blow. 

And often, too, they had a quarrel 

About a pet black ram. 
Which had been brought from foreign parts 

And sold to Uncle Sam. 

Now Jeff, he swore the colored ram 

Was of inferior stock, 
And, if allowed to run at large. 

That he would taint the flock; 

While Abe he swore the stock was good 

As any stock could be, 
And that between the white and black, 

No difference he could see. 

One angry word brought on another; 

At length they fell to blows. 
When Abe soon got a blackened eye 

And Jeff a bloody nose. 

The younger boys, they then mixed in, 

And bruised and banged around. 
Till half of them had bloody mugs 

And half were on the ground. 

Then all the dogs began to bark, 

The cocks began to crow, 
The brindled bull began to bellow. 

The cows began to low; 



312 UNCLE SAMUEL'S FARM. 

And such a shindy there was raised 

Upon the whole plantation, 
As ne'er before was ever seen 

In any Christian nation. 

Now utter ruin had been wrought 

On Uncle Samuel's farm, 
And all the neighboring farmers, too, 

Perchance had come to harm. 

But so it happened on this day. 

The fish were easy caught, 
And Uncle Samuel therefore soon 

Had taken all he sought. 

And, by good luck, — in nick of time — 
When the row was at its height. 

The old man, with his string of fish. 
Came all at once in sight. 

But when he saw the bloody broil, 
He quickly dropped his perch. 

And with a most determined air 
He seized a rod of birch. 

He spoke not to the angry boys, 

But did among them dash. 
And with a strong and vigorous arm 

He did them soundly thrash. 

The boys well knew the old man's blows. 
Which on their backs did shower. 

And so they quickly begged for grace, 
For well they knew his power. . 

** Take that! and that!! and that!!! you rogues! 
I '11 make you dance still faster; 
I '11 let you know, my larking lads, 
That Uncle Sam is master! 

" Come, come, no words; you scoundrels you, 
Or I will give you more! 



UNCLE SAMUEL'S FARM. 313 

I '11 baste you till you 're black and blue, 
And till your sides are sore. 

" A pretty mess you 've got things in, 
You worthless young spalpeens! 
Cannot you see the Gallic cock* 
Is scratching up our beans? 

" And don't you know the English bull 
Is prowling all around, 
Destroying all our garden stuff. 
And tearing up the ground ? 

" And, d — n you! can 't you plainly see 
That you '11 disgrace our morals, 
And bring discredit on the farm 
By these — your senseless quarrels ? 

" Now quickly march without delay 
And put all things to right. 
Or, by my halidom, I swear, 
You '11 get no grub to-night; 

** And if I hear another word 
About that cursed ram, 
You '11 be sorry, rest assured, or 
My name 's not Uncle Sam! " 

San Francisco, 1863. 

* Maximilian in Mexico. 



TO A LAND-BIRD AT SEA. 



Bird of the sunny isle! oh why dost thou roam 
So far away from thy green mountain home ? 
Oh, why hast thou left the bright orange grove 
Where thy mates still warble their notes of love ? 

On the crest of the billow the sea-bird may sleep, 
When the voice of the tempest is loud on the deep; 
It fears not the winds, as wildly they rave. 
For its place of repose is the breast of the wave! 

But thou canst not rest where the wind in its wrath 
Leaves the foam-covered wave on its desolate path. 
Where the howl of the tempest and the voice of the gale 
Mingle darkly and wild with the storm-spirits' wail! 

Then return to thy home, where the bright orange grows, 
While the dews of the morning are fresh on the rose; 
Return to thy mate, who is sad for thee now, 
As lonely she sits on the desolate bough. 

Return! while the storm is hushed on the deep, 
And calm in their rest the dark billows sleep; 
Return! ere the voice of the tempest be heard; 
Return to thy home, lone-wandering bird. 

On the West Indian Seas, September, 1848. 



THE SHEPHERD'S LAMENT. 



As THE song of the lark 

In the bright summer morn, 
When the dew 's on the heather, 

And the bloom 's on the thorn- 
My heart it was lightsome 

And merry with glee, 
For dearer than life 

Was young Jennie to me. 

We tended our flocks 

In the long summer days, 
And gathered fresh daisies 

On the bright, sunny braes; 
We knew not of grief. 

Nor dreamed we of sorrow; 
We were happy to-day — 

Nor thought of to-morrow. 

The sun it still shines 

In the long summer days, 
And the daisies still bloom 

On the green, sunny braes; 
But the sun shines coldly 

On meadow and lea, 
And though flowers still bloom. 

They bloom not for me. 

For Jennie now sleeps 

With the turf o'er her breast; 
In the churchyard old 

They have laid her to rest; 
And the green grass grows, 

And the willow now weeps 
O'er the lone, shady spot 

Where Jennie now sleeps. 



3i6 THE SHEPHERD'S LAMENT. 

So, I gather no more 

In the long summer days 
The daisies that bloom 

On the green, sunny braes; 
For the sunshine is cold 

And shaded with gloom, 
And the flowers have all lost 

Their freshness of bloom. 

San Francisco, 1884. 



ADIEU TO THEE, EFFIE ! 



Adieu to thee, Effie! sweet charmer, adieu! 

I bid thee, fair siren, good-bye! 
One falser than thou great Nature ne'er made, 

Nor yet one more silly than I. 

A lesson from thee, at least, I have learned, — 
'Twill last me (I think) for a while; 

'T will be long ere again a siren bewitch me, 
Or a serpent again me beguile! 

And now, as I leave thee, this counsel I give: 
Remember, while weaving your toils. 

That the blow that's given with heartless intent, 
Sometimes with a vengeance recoils. 

Kentucky, 1835. 



I 



THE BROKEN HEART. 



I GAVE to thee a guileless heart, 

I gave it all to thee, 
And thought that thou wouldst prize the gift,. 

That it would cherished be! 

A little while you toyed with it 

In cruel, heartless play, 
Then, as a soiled and worthless thing, 

You cast the gift away! 



It was a cruel thing to do, 

A cruel, heartless thing, 
Upon a guileless, gentle heart 

Such bitter woe to bring. 

Go — leave me now, and bear with thee^ 

Where'er on earth thou art. 
The memory of your triumph o'er 

A gentle, trusting heart. 



1 



Kentucky, 1835. 



RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD. 



Within a sunny woodland vale, 

Shut out from worldly view, 
I knew a little garden spot 

Where sweetest flowrets grew. 

And well I loved that quiet place, 

And well I love it still, — 
For in that sunny corner yet, 

The sweetest memories dwell. 

Kind ones had planted there the rose. 

And nurtured it with care. 
And breathed the balmy breath of love 

Upon the lily fair. 

And gentle voices there had made 

Sweet music to my ear, 
And spoke the words of kindness, which 

I never more shall hear. 

That garden is a desert now. 

Alone the thistle grows 
Where once the crystal drops of morn 

Drank beauty from the rose! 

And there no more the voice of love 
The sorrowing heart will cheer, 

Or kindness, with a gentle hand, 
Wipe off the falling tear. 

Ah, yes! the rose is withered now; 

The voice of love is o'er, 
And in that lonely garden spot 

The lily blooms no more; 

But Memory fondly Hngers still 
Around that holy place. 



320 RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD. 

And Fancy paints again the scenes 
That time cannot efface — 

No; never from my soul will pass 
The memory of that spot, 

Till life's tumultuous scenes are o'er, 
And its wild dreams forgot. 

For never more the wanderer's head 
May find such sweet repose, 

As in that bower where gentle hands 
Once twined the blooming rose. 

And never more the wanderer's foot 
So sweet a spot may tread. 

As where those lovely blooming flowers 
Their early fragrance shed. 

Jackson, Mississippi, 1849. 



THE WANDERER'S DREAM OF CHILDHOOD. 



The wanderer, on a weary couch 

In restless slumbers lay, 
And while his eyes were closed in sleep, 

His thoughts were far away! 

His dreams were of the flowery fields. 

And of the sunny glade; 
The shady woods and meadows green. 

Where he in childhood played. 

Again he felt the summer breeze, 

And heard its gentle sigh, 
As rustling through the waving corn 

It mumured softly by; 

Again, as when a child, he sat 

Beneath the oak to rest, 
To listen to the humming bee. 

And watch the robin's nest; 

To gaze upon the fleecy clouds 

As they were floating by. 
And watch their ever-changing forms 

Upon the summer sky; 

Again beside the crystal brook, 
Which through the meadow flows, 

He chased the gilded butterfly 
And plucked the blooming rose; 

And heard the mower's ringing scythe. 

The reaper's merry lay, 
And with his little playmates romped 

Upon the new-mown hay. 

At length, when wearied with his sports, 
He sought the little wood. 



322 THE WANDERER'S DREAM. 

Where close beside a crystal spring 
His native cottage stood. 

There oft his mother's tender voice 
Had soothed his infant rest, 

As, list'ning to her gentle songs, 
He lay upon her breast! 

With weary foot he passed the stile, 
And crossed the little yard 

Where first his infant feet had learned 
To tread the grassy sward. 

But now, alas! no mother's voice 

A gentle greeting gave; 
His cottage home was desolate. 

And lonely as the grave. 

Wild weeds were growing by the door 
And by the garden gate. 

And dreary was the cricket's song 
Within the empty grate. 

He called upon his mother then, — 
Alas! she heard him not, 

For in that silent cottage hall 
Her name was now forgot. 

Then darkly o'er the sleeper's brow 
A shade of sorrow passed, 

And on his rough and sunburnt cheeks 
The teardrops gathered fast. 

When, with a sudden start, he woke 
From out his troubled sleep. 

To listen to the howling storm 
Upon the midnight deep! 

And long it was ere sleep again 
His weary eyelids pressed, 

For sadd'ning thoughts of other days 
Weighed darkly on his breast. 



THE WANDERER'S DREAM. 323 

And still his rough and sunburnt cheeks 

Were wet with bitter tears, 
As Memory with her magic voice 

Called back his early years. 

On the South Atlantic Ocean, May, 1850. 



THE WILLOW-TREE. 



Come, Nature, now shake up the glass, 
That I its bottom sands may see! 

For I am faint, and fain would rest 
Beneath yon drooping willow-tree. 

The place is quiet, cool, and damp, 
And it may bring repose to me; 

So, Nature, then, oh, let me go 
And rest beneath that willow-tree! 

I 'm weary, old, and worn with toil; 

I nothing more can do for thee — 
Kind Nature, then, oh, let me go 

And sleep beneath that willow-tree! 

Perchance, I may not wake again! 

But I '11 content and happy be, 
Though I should sleep a dreamless sleep 

Beneath that drooping willow-tree. 

So, Nature, then, shake up the glass. 
That I its bottom sands may see! 

For I am faint, and fain would rest 
Beneath yon drooping willow-tree. 



San Francisco, 1869. 



THE POET AT HOME. 



Now, Maggie, wife, bring me my pipe, 

And brew the barley bree; 
Let all the youngsters round me come; 

Put Clem upon my knee! 

Adown the hill fling gloomy care; 

Come, let your hearts be light! 
And we will have a bonnie song. 

And make a cheerful night. 

My youthful years have passed away; 

Old age comes on apace; 
I bear his mark upon my brow. 

His stamp upon my face. 

Yet, what care I! the wrinkled Eld 

Can never make me old, 
Nor can his frosty breath, I swear! 

E'er make my heart grow cold. 

The calf-skin covering of the book 

May be all soiled with age. 
But still the print be bright and good. 

And clear on every page. 

And, thus, the brow may furrowed be. 

The step no longer light, 
While still the heart beats high with hope 

And still the eye is bright. 

Give me another glass, my dear! 

And fill my pipe again! 
And I to all my household gods 

Will sing a cheering strain! 

Oh, Maggie dear! the youngsters now 
Are growing large and strong; 



326 THE POET AT HOME. 

The merry, rattling rogues, I ween, 
Will not require us long. 

Then we will in the corner sit, 

Nor care for anybody. 
And quietly you will take your tea. 

And I will take my toddy. 

And, in the gloaming hours of life, 
We then may find repose; 

Like as a day of cloud and storm 
Oft has a quiet close. 

Then, here 's a health to those I love! 

The darhngs of my soul; 
For them I 'd freely drain this heart 

As I now drain this bowl! 

A brimming health! I drink, my dears. 

Still may ye happy be, 
When I have laid me down to rest 

Beneath the willow-tree. 

Now, Harry, lad, stand up, my boy! 

Thy father speaks to thee; 
Come, fill a cup of Rhenish wine 

And drink a health to me! 

That wild and dancing eye of thine 

Tells of a restless soul. 
That on the stormy path of life 

But ill will brook control. 

Aye; of a temper keen it tells, 

As edge of finest blade 
That e'er was in Toledo forged 

Or in Damascus made. 

They say thy lithe and slender form 
Thy father's image bears. 

And that thy fiery spirit, too, 
His wayward humor shares — 



I 



THE POET AT HOME. 327 

Well, be it so; I cannot now 

Call back this gift to thee, 
Or e'er, perchance, to thee can give 

A better legacy. 

Now, Hal! my boy, come swear to me, 

When on thy father's head 
The last cold, bitter blast of life 

Its wintry snows has shed — 

That thou, with manly heart and soul, 

And with a vigorous arm. 
Will guard thy father's jewels well 

And shelter them from harm! 

Come, Clara, now, a kiss from thee! 

A gentle kiss, my dear, 
And let that lisping voice of thine 

Fall sweetly on mine ear. 

Thy rosy cheek to mine, my love; 

Thou art a little fawn! 
And thy bright face is mild and sweet 

As is the early dawn. 

The crystal drop of morning dew 

That on the rosebud lies. 
Not purer is than thy young soul, 

Or brighter than thine eyes! 

Thy soul 's a fount of sweetest love 

Where crystal waters well; 
Thy mind 's a little fragrant bower 

Where brightest fancies dwell; 

And bitter word or selfish thought 

Ne'er clouds thy sunny face. 
Or in thy kind and gentle heart 

E'er finds a resting-place. 

Fair is the lily bathed in dew. 
And sweet the flowery thorn, 



328 THE POET AT HOME. 

And fragrant is the blushing rose 
That drinks the breath of morn— 

But lily wet with morning dew, 

The rosebud on its tree, 
Is not so fair or half so sweet 

As thy bright face to me. 

And where 's my little elfin thing, 
With soft and curly hair — 

Wee Mollie, with the sparkling eye 
And with the brow so fair! 

Come, put thine arms around my neck! 

Come, kiss thy father's brow! 
And let me hear thy silvery voice 

And drink its music now! 

I hear it oft at peep of morn, 

As merrily it rings. 
And linnet ne'er on dewy lawn 

To me so sweetly sings. 



Another kiss upon thy cheek 
Thou little fairie sprite 

And I will promise thee, my pet 
I '11 not be cross to-night. 



\ 



What ho! my httle laddie boy; 

I will not pass thee by. 
But to thy curly head will sing, 

And to thy bright blue eye. 

Thou bearest thy father's name, my son, 

And on thy baby brow 
I mark thy father's spirit, too, 

As I behold thee now. 

The dews of morn are on thy cheek; 

Thy race has scarce begun; 
And many a weary year, perchance, 

Will pass ere it has run. 



THE POET AT HOME. 329 

I have no castles on the land, 

No ships upon the sea — 
No store of gold have I in bank, 

Nor lands hold I in fee — 

But yet, Golconda's richest mine, 

Or Afric's golden store, 
Could never pay the price I set 

On these wild urchins four. 

Fill me another goblet now! 

Fill to the beaker's brim! 
Let each the ruby nectar taste 

And kiss the crystal rim! 

Now do I drain the brimming bowl. 

And thus the goblet break! 
And thus, let all who do ye wrong. 

My bitterest curses take! 

Good-night, my children! now, good-night! 

Go to your peaceful beds; 
And let the rosiest dreams of love 

Hang round your sleeping heads. 



San Francisco, 1870. 



TO CLARA, 

IN REPLY TO THE GREETING SHE GAVE ME ON MY 
FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY. 



Though fifty summers I have seen, 

And fifty winters cold, 
Even yet, my child, I do not feel 

That I am growing old. 

But still I know my waning life 

Is in the autumn leaf, 
And that the remnant of my days 

Can be, at most, but brief. 

But, whether it be brief or long, 

It will not cheerless be, 
So long as thy soft look of love 

So brightly beams on me. 

If fifty years of weary toil 

Had paid me nothing more 
Than that soft-beaming glance of thine, 

I still would not ho, poor ! 

For dearer to thy father's soul 

Is that sweet face of thine. 
Than brightest gem that e'er was dug 

From richest Indian mine. 

And sweeter to thy father's ear 

Is thy soft, lisping voice. 
Than loudest note that ever made 

Ambition's soul rejoice. 

God shield thee long, my gentle one, } | 

From bitter grief and care, 



TO CLARA. 331 



Nor let thy youthful cheek be wet 
With sorrow's burning tear. 

May long thy father's life be spared 
To shelter thee from harm 

Within an humble, quiet home, 
All sunny, bright, and warm; 

And when his weary head is laid 
Beneath the willow-tree, 

May heaven's protecting angels then 
Thy guardian spirits be. 

San Francisco, November 16, 1866. 



SONG TO LITTLE MOLLIE. 



Oh, hae ye seen my bonnie bairn ? 

Oh, hae ye seen wee Mollie, O ? 
An' heard the little dearie sino; 

Sae sweetly to her dollie, O ? 

Her lips are like the cherry ripe; 

Her teeth are white an' pearly, O; 
An' round her little elfin brow 

Hing locks sae wild an' curly, O! 

Oh, she 's a Httle bonnie bird! 

A darlin' little dearie, O! 
That nestles in her daddie's heart, 

An' makes it light and cheerie, O! 

Then, come an' see the bonnie bird! 

Then, come an' see wee Mollie, O! 
An' hear the little dearie sing 

Sae sweetly to her dollie, O! 



San Francisco, 1865. 



TO LITTLE MARY ASLEEP. 



The soothing hand of sleep, my child, 

Has laid thee now at rest, 
And spread its dreamy mantle o'er 

Thy gently heaving breast. 

The smile that plays upon thy lip 

And lights thy baby brow 
Tells that thy soft and rosy dreams 

Are of the angels now! 

Sweet be thy sleep, my pretty one. 
While angels guard thy bed, 

And softly spread their sheltering wings 
Above thy infant head. 

San Francisco, 1865. 



» 



TO MARY, 

ON HER FIFTEENTH BIRTHDAY. 



Oh, Mary dear, the months again 
Have brought thy natal morn, 

And fifteen summers now have passed 
Since thou, my child, wast born! 

The fleeting years have changes brought, 

Dear child, to you and me; 
To me they 've given silver hair, 

And sunny locks to thee. 

With thee the balmy breath of spring 

Foretells the blooming rose; 
With me the chilling autumn clouds 

Predict the wintr>' snows. 

Long may that sunny brow of thine 

Be free from bitter care; 
Long be it ere a gloomy cloud 

Shall cast a shadow there. 

I know, my child, that grief's in store 

For all of mortal birth. 
That tears must wet the cheeks of all 

Who tread the vales of earth; 

But tears may be like gentle showers 

That bid the daisies bloom, 
And sorrow does not always cast 

A chilling shade of gloom. 

Then be thy griefs like clouds that float 

Across the summer sky; 
And may their shadows on thy soul 

E'er pass as quickly by; 



TO MARY. 335 

And may the tears that thou must shed 

Fall lightly as the shower 
That Nature sheds in summer dews 

Upon the sleeping flower! 

And when with thee the dewy spring 

And summer days are o'er, 
And when upon thy sunny cheek 

The roses bloom no more, 

May still the sunny rays of Hope 

Beam brightly on thy head, 
And o'er the closing eve of life 

A golden radiance shed. 



San Francisco, 1878. 



TO CLEM. 



'T IS long since I, with bat and ball, 
And top and marbles played, 

Or roamed a wild and barefoot boy 
O'er sunny field and glade. 

For three-score years have cast their snows 

Upon my ag6d head, 
And summer leaves and summer flowers 

With summer years have fled! 

But still the sun of life is bright, 

Though going down the sky, 
For Hope still sings a cheerful song 

As days and years go by. 

So live — that, when the hand of Time 

Upon thy brow is laid. 
And summer flowers have withered all 

In autumn's chilling shade. 

That thou upon a well-spent life 
Mayst look with calm repose, 

And with a cheerful patience wait 
Its quiet, peaceful close. 

Is the wish of your father. 

San Francisco, May, 1880. 



ON THE DEATH OF A POOR YOUNG GIRL. 



Sleep, gentle maiden, sweetly sleep, — 

Thy dream of life is o'er; 
The tears that Sorrow bade thee weep 

Shall dim thine eyes no more. 

Thou wert a flower of fairest hue. 
Which morning suns unclose, 

Pure as the drops of early dew 
That glitter on the rose. 

But now, alas! the bitter frost 
Of death has nipt thy bloom; 

The flower has felt a chilling blast, 
And withers in the tomb. 

Sleep, gentle maiden, sweetly sleep, — 

Thy dream of life is o'er; 
The tears that Sorrow bade thee weep 

Shall dim thine eyes no more. 

Henderson County, Illinois, 1847. 



ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND, WHO 
DIED AMONG STRANGERS. 

[judge ALEXANDER BAINE.] 



Friend of my youth! thou art no more — 
The toils of Hfe with thee are o'er; 
Thy manly soul from earth has passed 
And found a peaceful home at last! 

Why should I weep that thou art gone, 
And all thy earthly toils are done! 
That thy clean hand and manly brow 
Are mouldering in the charnel now! 

For well I know, that far away. 
In beauteous realms of endless day. 
Thy soul has found that sweet repose 
That none but the honest spirit knows. 

What though around thy dying bed 
No drops of kindred tears were shed! 
That strangers only watched thy death 
And caught thy last expiring breath! 

Full well I know, that they to thee 
Gave kindest words of sympathy, 
And that thy sad and lonely bier 
Was wet with many a manly tear. 

And well I know, that angel bands. 
From brightest realms of heavenly lands 
Poured in thine ear the songs of love 
That thrill the starry courts above! 

And now, methinks, I catch the song 
Breathed by the bright, angelic throng, 



ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. 339 

As o'er their golden harps they hung 
And thus to heavenly music sung: 

" All welcome! to the coming one, 
Whose earthly labors now are done; 
All welcome to the spirit blest, 
That soon with us will be at rest! 

" There is for thee in heavenly lands 
A home prepared, not made with hands, 
Where thou shalt rest when life is o'er, 
And feel its chilling storms no more. 

" Then shalt thou meet thine early dead, 
O'er whom a father's tears were shed 
As their pale forms were sadly laid 
Beneath the weeping willow's shade. 

" And there with them, in robes of light, 
(Too dazzling far for mortal sight), 
Thou 'It tread beneath celestial skies 
The crystal courts of Paradise ! 

" And in that land thou soon shalt see 
The widowed one who weeps for thee, 
And there, when life's bleak storms are o'er. 
Ye '11 dwell in love to part no more. 

** Then welcome! spirit loved so well. 
To the bright land where angels dwell; 
We wait to guide thee on the way 
To regions of eternal day! " 

Yes, thus methinks the angels sung. 
As o'er their tuneful harps they hung. 
While Love's celestial light was shed 
In glory round the dying bed. 

And, when by Azrael's fatal stroke 
The trembling chords of life were broke. 
The happy spirit joined the throng 
That to angelic choirs belong. 



340 ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. 

Then, from the distant heavenly plain, 
There came a thrilling, melting strain 
Of music, such as angels sing, 
When the redeemed from earth they bring. 

The azure hills caught up the song 
The melting cadence bore along, 
Which, from remotest regions far, 
Was answered by the chiming star! 

Oh, then why weep that thou art gone, 
And all thy earthly toils are done! 
Since well I know that thou art blest 
In a bright land of heavenly rest. 

Still must I weep, my early friend. 
As o'er thy silent grave I bend, 
To think that none of kindred blood 
Beside thy lonely death-bed stood. 

San Francisco, 1S63. 



EPITAPH ON SOPHIE. 



Tread lightly, friend, this ground is holy 
Where the sorrowing willows wave, 

And the little ones are weeping 
O'er a mother's quiet grave. 



IN MEMORY OF HARRY. 



Oh, why do I weep for thee still ! 

I know that I am looking in vain — 
For I know that here upon earth 

I shall never behold thee again. 

But the tears that fall from my eyes, 
Though from sorrow and grief they are born, 

Are as soft and sweet to my soul 
As dew to the breast of the morn! 

For, when the scenes of this life are all o'er, 
And with its toils and its strifes I have done, 

In the land where the seraphim dwell 
I know that I '11 meet the lost one. 



San Francisco, 1877. 



IN MEMORY OF CLARA. 



She sleeps beneath the daisies now, 
The turf lies o'er her breast, 

And wild birds sing their sweetest notes 
Around her place of rest. 

Soft be thy sleep, pale, stricken one! 

Thy peaceful bed I 've made, 
And gently laid thee down to rest 

Beneath the cypress shade. 

I '11 weep no more for thee, my child, 

I '11 weep no more for thee; 
'Twas but thine earthly form I laid 

Beneath the cypress-tree. 

I see thy gentle face again! 

And on thine angel brow 
The smiles of love and beauty tell 

That thou art happy now. 

So I will weep no more, my child, 

But will with patience wait 
Till I may kiss thy brow again 

Within the shining gate! 



No, father, weep no more for me; 

No, weep no more for me; 
For at the shining, crystal gate 

I '11 surely wait for thee! 
I '11 surely wait for thee, father; 

I '11 surely wait for thee — 
For at the shining, crystal gate 

I '11 surely wait for thee. 



IN MEMORY OF CLARA. 343 

And I '11 give thee a gentle kiss, 

Just as I did of yore, 
When, wearied with thy daily toils, 

I met thee at the door! 
I met thee at the door, father; 

I met thee at the door — 
When, wearied with thy daily toils, 

I met thee at the door. 

I '11 lead thee to a rosy bower, 

Where many friends await 
To greet thee, in the beauteous land 

Within the shining gate! 
Within the shining gate, father; 

Within the shining gate — 
To greet thee, in the beauteous land 

Within the shining gate. 

Then, father, weep no more for me; 

No, weep no more for me; 
For at the shining, crystal gate 

I'll surely wait for thee! 
I '11 surely wait for thee, father; 

I '11 surely wait for thee— 
For at the shining, crystal gate 

I '11 surely wait for thee. 



San Francisco, 1878. 



ON THE DEATH OF DICK, A CANARY-BIRD. 

[killed by a cat, TUESDAY, JUNE 30, 189I.] 



Hushed is thy tuneful, warbling voice, 
Its silvery notes have fled — 

But still I cannot think thy soul, 
Like thy sweet song, is dead. 

For, oh! so sweet a voice as thine 

Was never born on earth; 
Methinks that where the angels sing, 

That there it had its birth! 

And I will weep for thee, poor bird, 

To think thy harmless life, 
Which had been spent in mirthful song, 

Should end in pain and strife. 

But yet, perchance, thy warbling notes 

Still smg a cheering strain; 
And, too, who knows but I may yet 

Hear thy sweet voice again! 

For 'mid the bowers of Paradise 
'T is said that birds do sing; 

If so, I think that there thy voice 
In silvery notes will ring. 



The daisy gave to Burns a name; 
The skylark's song to Shelley fame; 
While I can like a sailor swear 

At everything I see 
That tells of an unfeeling heart 

Of fiendish cruelty — 



ON THE DEATH OF A CANARY-BIRD. 345 

I 'm not ashamed to shed a tear 

And feel a touch of grief, 
E'en o'er a dead canary-bird 

Or o'er a withered leaf! 

I thank thee, Nature, for this gift, 

And would not change it now 
For brightest gem that ever decked 

A conquering Caesar's brow. 

San Francisco, June, 1891. 



TO MY FAMILIAR SPIRIT. 



THE CHARGE. 

Oh, but you are a wicked jade! 
Who all my wayward life has made 
A thing of fitful light and shade, 

Like April morn; 
And many a trick you have me played, 

Since I was born. 

You 've led me here — you 've led me there — 
You've sometimes made me curse and swear, 
And sometimes made me breathe a prayer, 

As was your mood 
To play the devil, or in humor were 

To play the prude. 

In wild and wicked company 

You 've made me sip the barley bree, 

You 've gone with me on many a spree 

And rattling rollick, 
Just for the fun of seeing me 

Get on a frolic. 

But now, they say, 't is time that I 
Should lay these wayward follies by; 
That I should leave them off, and try. 

Through grace, to seek 
Some happy place beyond the sky, 

Of which they speak — 

Unless I do, they say, I 'm lost; 
That in perdition I '11 be tossed, 
And there upon a burning coast 

Where devils dwell, 
I '11 join the congregated host 

That people hell! 



TO MY FAMILIAR SPIRIT. 347 

They talk about a narrow way 
That leads from burning wrath away, 
But few of Adam's sons, they say, 

Have'ever found it; 
That those who seek it night and day, 

Oft go around it. 

I might take heed to what they preach. 
And seek to learn from what they teach, 
How I this narrow path might reach, 

And strive to hit it — 
But you — you wicked, sneering wretch, 

Will not permit it. 

For if to virtue I 'm inclined. 

Or to be pious have a mind. 

You 're sure as death to come behind, 

And, with a sneer, 
Breathe something of a humorous kind 

Into my ear. 

THE REPLY. 

What mean you by this silly stuff ? 
You ought not thus to kick and cuff, 
And use an ancient friend so rough, — 

Come, list to me. 
And I will prove you clear enough 

An ass to be! 

Now, God forbid that I should sneer 
At aught that is to Virtue dear, 
For all that 's holy I revere, 

And oft have shed 
Kind Mercy's soft and melting tear 

On Sorrow's head. 

Nor sweet Religion do I scorn; 
She of kind Charity is born. 
And, like the gentle dews of morn 
Upon the rose, 



348 TO MY FAMILIAR SPIRIT. 

Brings to the human heart forlorn 
A sweet repose. 

But canting hypocrites I hate, 
Who maudle o'er man's lost estate, 
But nothing do that might abate 

The grief of those 
Who sigh beneath a heavy weight 

Of human woes. 

Behold yon portly, sleek divine, 
Whose rosy cheeks with fatness shine! 
What though he sigh, and cant, and whine 

About the sinner! 
I warrant you he knows what wine 

Is best for dinner. 

And mark you, too, that howling fool, 
Who ne'er has been a day at school, 
Yet, with assurance bold and cool. 

Presumes to give — 
To men of wisdom — a moral rule 

By which to live! 

While he devours a reeking roast, 
A mutton-chop, and buttered toast. 
With greasy lips, he'll vainly boast 

That he can tell 
What precious souls the Holy Ghost 

Will save from hell! 

Hear how he whines about salvation. 

And cants about regeneration, 

And howls and snorts about damnation 

And Adam's fall. 
And bellows like a bull of Bashan 

Within his stall! 

Now, sweet Religion does not dwell 
With lordly priests who strut and swell. 
Or ranting fools who howl of hell 
And deep damnation; 



TO MY FAMILIAR SPIRIT. 349 

Or canting knaves who roar and yell 
About salvation; 

But in the widow's humble shed, 
And by Affliction's dreary bed, 
And where the little orphan's head 

All lonely sleeps. 
And where Affection by the dead 

Its vigil keeps — 

'T is there this heavenly maid is found, 
And where she treads is holy ground! 
For through the darkest night profound 

She guides the way. 
And lights the sullen gloom around 

With heavenly ray! 

What does this gentle maiden teach ? 
What should her faithful servants preach ? 
Not that you sigh, and whine, and screech, 

And horrors cherish, — 
But that a helping hand you reach 

To those who perish. 

That unto others you should do 
As you would have them do to you; 
That to the sad, and erring, too. 

Be kindly given 
Sweet mercy, like the gentle dew 

That falls from heaven! 

This is the golden rule of love 
By which celestial spirits move; 
It warms the nestling turtle-dove. 

And brightly glows 
When sorrowing angels weep above 

O'er human woes. 

Now, we have been together long. 
And often have with wine and song 
Beguiled the heavy hours along 
Life's weary way, 



350 TO MY FAMILIAR SPIRIT. 

And that you 've never done what 's wrong, 
I will not say — 

But this I '11 say: With cruel stroke, 
The bruised reed you ne'er have broke. 
Nor e'er, by wanton word or joke, 

(As I do know), 
Have added to the bitter yoke 

Of human woe. 

And I have seen you step aside 
To drop a tear o'er those who died. 
Crushed by Misfortune's bitter tide; 

And give a sigh. 
When the proud Levite turned aside 

And came not nigh. 

Then let your mind all quiet be 
While musing on eternity; 
Go on and practice charity 

And gentle love, 
And this shall be your guarantee 

For joys above! 

San Francisco, 1869. 



ON A LEE -SHORE. 



There 's tempest on the weather bow, 

And breakers on the lee; 
No friendly beacon sheds its light 

Upon the midnight sea — 

Long have I sailed the ocean wave; 

On many a lee-shore been; 
But ne'er upon the stormy deep 

So wild a night have seen! 

This is an angry, boisterous sea, 
And this a rock-bound coast, 

And many a stately bark I know 
Has on this shore been lost! 

Unless we clear that rocky point 
Which now lies dead ahead, 

All hands will, ere the morning light. 
The hungry sharks have fed! 

Aloft, and loose the topsail reefs! 

The weather braces mind! 
And, Pilot, hard aport your helm, 

And hold her to the wind! 

Now, steady! so — and hold her firm, 

Nor let her fall away; 
Heed not the angry, howling storm. 

Nor mind the dashing spray! 

She 's drifting still! give her the jib! 

The strain she '11 have to stand. 
If we would pass that rocky point 

And 'scape the threatening land! 

The struggling barkie holds her own! 
Oh, she 's a gallant craft! 



352 ON A LEE-SHORE. 

Nor heeds the waves and rushing seas 
That rake her fore and aft. 

Her masts, of tough Norwegian pine, 
Have many a tempest stood, 

And many a sea has dashed aside 
Her ribs of oaken wood. 

Now hold! good cordage, spar, and sail, 

But for one minute more! 
And she will pass that threatening rock. 

And danger will be o'er. 

'T is on her bow! 'T is now abeam! 

Aquarter 'tis at last! 
Now let the angry tempest howl. 

For now the danger 's past. 

Up with your helm, and give her breath! 

Aye, give the barkie rest; 
And steer her for a bay that lies 

Nor' west, a quarter west! 

And thus, on Life's tempestuous sea. 

Wild billows often roar, 
And oft a shattered, struggling bark 

Is on a leeward shore. 

An easy thing it is to sail 

Before a gentle breeze, 
When skies are bright and fleecy clouds 

Float o'er the summer seas; 

But when dark clouds to windward lie, 
And dangerous rocks alee, 

'T is then the seaman must look out 
And on the deck must be. 

Then ye, who sail the sea of Life, 
To windward keep an eye. 

If ye would 'scape the dangers that 
Upon the lee-shore lie! 

San Francisco, 1888. 



MY SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY. 



On this, my seventieth natal day, 
I '11 whistle bleak old age away! 
As I a merry part will play 

With youthful folk, 
And be as young and blithe as they 

In fun and joke. 

What though upon my hoary head 
Old Time his wintry snows has shed! 
What though my youthful days have fled, 

And left me now 
With crippled limb and halting tread, 

And wrinkled brow! 

I still a merry song can sing. 

And still I love the flowers of spring; 

To list the tuneful-sounding string 

Of merry strain; 
For these, in pleasant memories, bring 

The past again. 

I cannot tell how soon I may 

Be called from earthly scenes away; 

Nor yet the part that I may play 

When life is o'er, 
And I upon this earth can stay 

And sing no more. 

But this I know: where'er it be. 
That all will then be well with me; 
For sure I am that I shall see 

Bright faces there; 
That still I '11 be as spirit-free 

As I am here! 



354 MY SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY. 

So, when I hear the trumpet call 
That must at last be heard by all, 
It will like sweetest music fall 

Upon my ear. 
For I shall have no cause at all, 

I 'm sure, to fear! 

For, 'mid bright scenes of joy and bliss. 
In some far brighter land than this. 
Where rosy beams sweet fiow'rets kiss, 

I '11 happy be — 
Among the friends who now I miss. 

That /A^r^ I'll see! 

With them I '11 roam o'er meadows green^ 
And sail o'er lakes of silver sheen, 
And still recall what I have seen 

In other lands, 
And still be clasped, as I have been. 

By friendly hands! 

Now, youngsters all, come let me see 
How bright and merry you can be! 
And, while I sip the barley bree, 

I '11 think that I 
Am still with those so dear to me 

In days gone by. 

Let hoary sinners whine and pray. 

As hypocritic parts they play, 

And let them think that thus they may 

Stern Justice cheat. 
And find in some great judgment day 

A pleasant seat; 

While I will list the tuneful string 
That tells me of the flowery spring. 
And thus to me in memory bring 

The past again. 
Although I 've reached, while thus I sing^ 

Three-score and ten! 

San Francisco, November i6, i886. 



OLD AGE AND TIME. 



OLD AGE. 

Tell me, Old Time! if this you can: 
In counting off the years to man, 
Why do you some so many give 
And why do some but few years live ? 
And why not, too, consult the will 
Of those you are aboiit to kill ? — 
It seems to me as hardly fair. 
The way that things adjusted are; 
Those who would stay you take away, 
Those who would ^6> you force to stay! 

The millionaire who has just died, 
Although he struggled 'gainst the tide 
To hold his moorings, yes or no — 
Was forced at last to let them go; 
While I, for years almost four-score, 
Have struggled off a leeward shore, 
Still never yet have able been 
To find a port to enter in! 

Is it because of some dark crime 
By some one wrought in ancient time. 
That I am doomed on earth to stay 
Until the sin is purged away ? 

Howe'er it be, 't is time for me, 
I think, to leave this stormy sea. 
And find a quiet, pleasant spot 
Where its wild storms may be forgot. 

TIME. 

Old Fossil! list, — while I explain 
Why you on earth so long remain. 
And if you will give heed to me 
I think you will contented be — 



356 OLD AGE AND TIME. 

I things adjust as best I can, 
And no exception make in man, 
As you will see, I think, when you 
Have clearly looked the matter through: 

The millionaire who just has gone, 
No special good on earth has done; 
His riches great, in gold and lands, 
Were gained by work of other hands. 
And by shrewd cimning, which to me 
Is but a name for robbery — 
If he had reached the age you 've won, 
What good on earth would he have done ? 
No more than does the spider, by 
His silent watch to catch a fly! 

You long the path of Life have trod, 
And though you have been poorly shod. 
Yet still you 've done the best you could 
And something, too, have done of good — 
You ne'er have shut your humble door 
Against the suffering, helpless poor; 
For the sad, wretched outcast, you 
Have kindly done what you could do, 
And ne'er have given a cruel stroke 
To hearts with bitter anguish broke. 

Therefore, you see. Time has for you 
Still other labors yet to do, — 
And while to do you something see, 
You must with life contented be! 

OLD AGE. 

All right, Old Time! I '11 say no more, 
And here will stay upon this shore 
As long as you may think it well 
That I upon the earth should dwell. 

I '11 stay content, so long as I 
May dry a tear in Sorrow's eye; 
Or, cause, by kindly look or hand, 
A flower to bloom on desert land! 

San Francisco, January 25, 1893. 



TURNED OUT TO GRAZE. 

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN A YOUNG APPOINTEE TO A FEDERAL 

OFFICE AND AN OLD MAN WHO HAD GROWN GRAY 

IN THE SERVICE OF THE GOVERNMENT. 



YOUNG OFFICIAL. 

I MUCH regret, my dear air, 

That I must let you know 
That from this place where long you 've been 

You now will have to go. 

I know your service has been long, 

And that, for what you 've done. 
To be well stalled by '* Uncle Sam " 

The right you 've almost won. 

But 'tis my duty, (as you know). 

To save the public feed, 
And not to keep the stock on hand 

For which there is no need. 

I trust, that in some other place 

From trouble you '11 be free- 
That there good pasture you may find 

And still well sheltered be. 

OLD MAN. 

Young man! I 've reached three-score and ten, 
And now for many years have been 
Here toiling in this musty den,* 

As you 've been told; 
'Mong records writ by ancient pen, 

In days of old. 

While by the great Republic's laws, 
The honored Pierce its Chieftain was, 

* Spanish Archives of California. 



358 TURNED OUT TO GRAZE. 

And led the Democratic cause 

As President — 
Then, by Dame Fortune's sees and saws, 

I here was sent! 

And here I toiled long wear)^ days. 

Ere you were in your baby ways, 

Or yet had learned your childish plays 

Of ball and top; 
Or on your chin began to raise 

The downy crop. 

Oft to defend some honest claim. 

Oft to expose a forged name 

Used to promote some lawless game, 

Which had been made; 
And which, without one blush of shame, 

Was boldly played. 

And in such work I 've ascertained 
Some facts by which the State has gained. 
And many a settler has obtained 

On public land 
A goodly home, which had been claimed 

By grasping hand. 

If you will list a while to me, 

I now will tax my memory. 

And give a list, by which you '11 see 

I 've something done 
By which the whole community 

Has something won: 

There 's the grant of "Ulpinos," in the Suisun Valley, 
Which o'er it was spread to many a square league. 

While the Limantour claim and that of Santillan 
Were cast o'er the city by the hand of intrigue. 

The grant of " Moquelemes," in the County of Joaquin- 
Eleven square leagues on the banks of the rio; 

The "Santos Call^," in the County of Yolo, 
With the falsified name of old Governor Pio. 



TURNED OUT TO GRAZE. 359 

The grant to Fuentes, by Micheltorena, 

And that of "Calaveras," with a clear antedate; 

Another to Castro, with the Limantour seal, 
And one to Diaz near the old Golden Gate. 

The grant of " New Albion " to William A. Richardson, 
Of many square leagues near Punta Arena; 

And that to Garcia, the same in extent, 
With the clearly forged name of Micheltorena. 

To these I might add perhaps half a score. 

Whose fraudulent claims were powerfully urged; 

But when they were scann'd with critical care. 
They were found by the courts to be certainly forged. 

Those times and scenes have long since fled; 
Most of the actors now are dead; 
But, here and there, with hoary head, 

You one will meet. 
With stooping form and limping tread 

Upon the street. 

Nor yet alone in search of wrong, 
Have I thus wrought so hard and long; 
I too have toiled with will as strong, 

By day and night. 
That those should get what might belong 

To them by right. 

In barren wilds and savage lands, 
Where roam the fierce Apache bands; 
O'er arid plains and desert sands 

In dangerous travel — 
My life I 've taken in my hands. 

Some fraud to unravel — 

Been scorched by day with tropic heat; 
Have climbed o'er rocks with blistered feet; 
With naught but salty jerk to eat, — 

And made my bed 
Where mountain storms in fury beat 

Upon my head! 



36o TURNED OUT TO GRAZE. 

Now don't you think some right I 've won 
For all the service I have done, 
And all the risks that I have run, 

In mine old age 
To journey somewhat softly on 

In life's last stage? 

I ne'er could learn the practic rule. 
Nor precept of poHtic school; 
For other's use I 've been a tool 

To gather pelf, 
But e'er have been too d — d a fool 

To help myself ! 

I 've seen the bird with wounded wing, 
That could not either fly or sing, 
Lie in its nest a helpless thing — 

It would have died, 
But for the food its mates did bring 

From far and wide. 

I 've seen the savage beast of prey, 

As in his rocky den he lay 

With tooth and claw all worn away, 

In snarling mood — 
But yet the younglings night and day 

Still brought him food. 

The scarred warrior, old and worn, 
Who had with shot and shell been torn, 
And had the brunt of battle borne 

On fields of blood — 
I 've nourished seen, with wine and corn. 

In shelter good. 

But I have seen the drudging slave 
Who all his life to service gave 
In patient toil, but could not save 

Out of his wage 
A few spare pence his way to pave 

To helpless age, — 



TURNED OUT TO GRAZE. 361 

When worn with toil, like some old steed, 
In his old age in bitter need, 
Turned out to find his scanty feed. 

To live or die; 
While youngling colts gave him no heed 

As they pranced by. 

Confess, I think, you surely must. 
That such a rule is hardly just — 
For though you find a little rust 

Upon the blade, 
It surely should not, 'mid the dust. 

Aside be laid. 

Go read old Roman records o'er, 
And pages dim of Grecian lore. 
And o'er Egyptian parchments pore 

Of ancient age. 
And learn the fruits that age has bore. 

On every page! 

The highest truths are not attained. 
Nor brightest wisdom e'er is gained. 
Nor purest knowledge e'er obtained 

In early youth. 
Ere yet the mind has ascertained 

What is the truth. 

The ripened fruit is never found 

While verdant leaves are hanging round. 

And milky weeds are on the ground; 

Nor golden sheaves, 
While still is heard the rustling sound 

Of summer leaves. 

But when the summer days have passed. 
And chilly blows the wintry blast. 
And when old age is coming fast — 

'Tis then you '11 find. 
When on the head white snow is cast, 

The ripened mind! 



362 TURNED OUT TO GRAZE. 

When Plato taught in ancient time, 

And Virgil wrote bucolic rhyme, 
And Pindar sang his odes sublime — 

The youngsters then, 
To Fame's high niche were taught to climb 

By aged men. 

But things have changed in later days, 
Since shepherds piped their pastoral lays; 
The modern youth in worldly ways 

Is wiser far 
Than hoary age and frosty grays, 

And sages are! 

YOUNG OFFICIAL. 

Old man! I 've listened to your tale, 

And well I know 't is true; 
But still for all, I cannot tell 

What I can do for you. 

The service done so long ago 

Is now remembered not — 
For those old times have passed away 

And now are quite forgot. 

You surely know what now is taught 
In every modern school: 
** If you'll help me, then I '11 helpjj/^//," 
Is the politic rule. 

You 've never been in politics, 

And so you cannot bring 
Such force to bear as it requires 

To place you in the ring! 

You know, in fact, that you 're too old 

For active work, and that 
You now are like a summer coon. 

With neither fur nor fat. 

And, furthermore, my hands are tied, 
And nothing I can do; 



TURNED OUT TO GRAZE. 363 

Since I have given all I have, 
I 've nought to give to you. 

With this I hope you '11 be content, 

And so go on your way — 
For I am very busy now, 

And have no more to say. 

OLD MAN. 

Young man! if what you say is true. 
The truth to tell, I pity you 
More than va^s^ii,— indeed I do; 

That one so bright. 
So full of strength, and learning, too, 

Is bound so tight. 

I 'd rather go and plough the land. 
And dig the soil and shovel sand. 
Or keep a thriving peanut-stand, 

Than thus to vest 
The right to use my good right hand 

As I thought best, 

In hands of some politic wing. 

Or tyrant boss of ruling ring, 

And thus be forced to do something — 

Some place to fill — 
By one to me that they might bring 

Against my will. 

I 'd have small cause, (I 'm sure), to boast 
Of what I 'd won, but at the cost 
Of moral will and freedom lost, 

Though I should count 
The treasures of the golden coast 

In the amount. 

A life of toil I 'd rather dree 
And live in bitterest poverty. 
Or on the bleakest desert be. 
And freedom save — 



364 TURNED OUT TO GRAZE. 

Than roll in wealth and luxury 
A moral slave! 

Ere I would " bend the pregnant knees " 
Some Alexander's whim to please, 
I 'd rather, like Diogenes, 

Live in a tub! 
And roam abroad o'er land and seas 

In search of grub. 

Now this is all that I can say; 
So you can travel on your way. 
And still in rings politic play 

Your little game, 
With hope that at some future day 

You '11 win a name; 

While I will do the best I can 
To finish up my wasting span, 
And die at last a fearless man. 

Whose unchained thought 
Has never yet, since life began. 

Been sold or bought. 

But, ere I take my limping way, 
A word of counsel I would say, 
And which, although it nothing pay 

Or profit you, 
You yet may find, some future day. 

That it was true : 

" 111 fares it with the country's pride," 
When on a filthy, muddy tide 
Designing men to office ride. 

Nor even try 
Their selfish schemes and plans to hide 

From public eye! 

We learn from old, historic page, 
As writ by pen of ancient sage, 
That through ambition's madd'ning rage 
The Caesar fell; 



TURNED OUT TO GRAZE. 365 

That Nero's crimes, in later age, 
Made Rome a hell! 

And how the Goth and Vandal came 
With burning torch and lurid flame, 
And left alone an empty name 

Where palace stood, 
And drowned the Eternal City's fame 

In seas of blood! 

The Gallic serf, in later day, 
Of lordly rule was long the play, 
And to licentious power a prey; 

At last, he rose! 
And then in dust the tyrant lay 

Beneath his blows. 

The name of Danton thrilled the ear, 
And many a cheek was blanched with fear 
When spake the bloody Robespierre; 

And loud the yell. 
When, 'mid the hellish din of war, 

The Bastile fell! 

When murky clouds hang in the air. 
And bird and beast give signs of fear. 
And distant thunders to the ear 

Low mutterings make — 
Then you may know the storm is near 

And soon will break! 

So let Corruption have a care. 
And of the coming wrath beware, 
Lest it the fearful fate should share 

Of France and Rome, 
When Ruin drove her red ploughshare 

Through many a home. 
San Francisco, 1886. 



THE VOICES OF CHILDHOOD. 



The voices of childhood at the sunset of life come back like the whis- 
perings of an angel, while the roar of the noon-day storm is forgotten. I 
can still see my mother's gentle face and hear her sweet voice, just as it 
sounded that night when she said : " Vou 're just sax years auld the night, 
laddie." 

Fu' weel do I remember, 
That night my mither said, 
** Your just sax years auld the night, 
My wee bit, bairnie lad! " 

I see her smile sae gently; 

I see her e'e sae bright; 
I hear her voice soun' sweetly, 

Just as it did that night. 

Fu' monie a year hae fleeted; 

Fu' monie a day since then; 
For noo in age I 've counted 

Just three-score year an' ten! 

I 've gaen on monie a journie; 

In monie a Ian' hae been; 
But ne'er in a' my wanderin's 

Sae sweet a face hae seen 

As was my gentle mither's, 

When thus she spak' to me, 
In that braw night o' simmer 

As I sat on her knee! 

I ken that I am hirplin' 

Doun to a bed o' rest. 
Where I will be weel happit 

With the mools aboun my breast; 

But tho' I 'm auld an' criplit, 
An' blinit is my e'e, 



THE VOICES OF CHILDHOOD. 367 

I am for a' fu' cherfu' 
An' life is bright to me! 

For in some better countrie, 

Ayont a' grief an' pain, 
I ken I '11 meet that mither 

An' hear her voice again. 



San Francisco, i{ 



A GREETING TO CARLOS AND MIGUEL, 

ON THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY OF THEIR BIRTH. 



Young scions of a famous race, 

Whose ancient blood in ye I trace, 

I greet ye on this smiling morn 

Which marks the day that ye were born, 

With earnest wish that ye may be 

An honor to your ancestry, — 

That the Peralta's ancient name 

May ne'er through ye be brought to shame. 

And that ye may by actions good 

Do honor to the Silvas' blood, 

As worthy children of a race 

Which has in history made a place : 

In lands where green the olive grows 
And where the winding Daro flows; 
Where, under Ferdinand the Brave, 
The daring Spaniard sought a grave 
Before Granada's towering walls 
And in Alhambra's stately halls! 

Where lofty mountains, capp'd with snow, 
O'erlook the land of Mexico; 
Where Montezuma's palace stood 
And Aztec altars reeked with blood; 
Where Hernan Cortez made his fight 
Upon the ghastly "Triste" night. 
When, with his bold, adventurous band. 
He won for Spain an empire grand! 

In regions wild, of savage lands, 
And deserts lone, of arid sands, 
Where scorching heat in summer reigns 
On Arizona's burning plains! 



GREETING TO CARLOS AND MIGUEL. 369 

Aye; of a race which honors won 
'Neath wintry sky and tropic sun, 
Ere to this coast Vizcayno came 
Or California had a name! 

But of the race whose names ye bear, 
The hves of none recorded are 
Which so eventful were on earth 
As that of her* who gave ye birth; 

And rarely, if e'en e'er, perchance, 
Was known such glamour of romance 
As that which smiling Fortune shed 
Upon your early infant bed. 

And now on this, your natal day, 
I sing to ye this simple lay, 
As tribute to the famous race 
Whose noble blood in ye I trace : 



Ye buds of Love! ye opening flowers 

That herald forth Life's spring, 
Ye come all smiling, fresh, and bright, 

The fondest hopes to bring! 

For ye are flowers of rarest growth. 

With human speech endowed. 
And breathe the breath of dearest love 

That is to man allowed. 

The fairest flower that e'er was plucked 

Within the Vales of Earth, 
Is not so sweet, nor half so pure 

As is a human birth! 

For 'tis distilled from deepest love 

Known to a woman's breast, 
Shaped by that Thought which guides the orb 

And rounds the robin's nest. 

* Sofia Loreto Maso y Silva de Peralta. 



370 GREETING TO CARLOS AND MIGUEL. 

It is a link between two hearts; 

A gage of heavenly love, 
Which calms the throbbing human breast, 

And soothes the turtle-dove. 

Oh, may such rosy beams of love 

As now upon ye shine, 
Still fall upon your manhood's years 

And on their late dechne! 

San Francisco, February 17, 1894. 



A FRAGMENT. 



" How long, O Nature, must I stay 
Here in this falling house of clay ? 
The walls are crumbling, and it seems 
Can not much longer hold the beams; 
The embers on the hearth are low, 
No longer give a cheerful glow. 
And old-time friends that I have known, 
Have by the Reaper down been mown; 
Then how much longer must I stay 
Here in this crumbling house of clay ? " 

" Patience! Patience! now, my son; 
Come, wait until your task is done; 
As summer fruit when ripe, 't is found. 
Is brought by Nature to the ground, 
So, when you 've done your work, you '11 be 
From your decaying house set free! " 

San Francisco, March 27, 1892. 



^ 



TO ILA, 

ON HER EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY ; IT BEING THE SAME 
DAY OF THE MONTH AS MY OWN. 



[miss ILA LANE.] 



Again, the circling montiis have brought 

Thy natal day and mine; 
But there 's a long, long gap between 

My day of birth and thine ! 

The shadow on the dial shows 

That seventy-two I 've seen, 
While yet for thee, my sunny child, 

It only marks eighteen. 

With me, the summer days have passed, 

And autumn, too, has fled; 
For Time his wantry snow has cast 

Upon my hoary head. 

With thee, the dew is on the flower, 
'T is springtime with thee now! 

And rosy light from golden clouds 
Beams on thy sunny brow. 

Sweet are the songs that wake the morn, 

And bright the noonday sun. 
And soothing are the sounds that tell 

That the long day is done; 

And thus the dewy spring of life, 
Should, like the morn, be bright. 

And when the eye is dimm'd with age 
Still should the heart be light! 



372 TO ILA. 

Long may that sunny brow of thine 
By care unfurrowed be, 

And may the griefs — that all must bear- 
E'er lightly fall on thee. 

And when, like mine, thy head is gray, 
And withered is thy brow, 

May still thy Hfe be calm and bright 
And happy as 't is now. 

San Francisco, November i6, 1888. 



TO ILA, 

ON HER MARRIAGE. 
[iLA LANE-ALLEN.] 

The skies, dear Ila, that bend o'er thee now, 

Are bright as the smiles that light thy young brow; 

The sunbeams of love, around thee that play. 
Are soft as the dawn of a bright morn in May! 

Thy bark it is launched — may the breezes that bear 
It onward through life be gentle and fair 

As a mother's soft breath, or whispers that tell 
Where Love has its home, and cherubs may dwell! 

May Love ever make sweet music for thee, 
And Hope thy cheering companion e'er be; 

May the years of thy life all calmly go by 

Like a long summer's day, with a clear, azure sky; 

May the noon be as bright as the morning has been. 
And, in the dim exit of Life's closing scene, 

May the sweet voice of Love still fall on thine ear. 
And the bright smile of Hope thy spirit still cheer. 

San Francisco, February 24, 1894, 



THE OLD HOUSE. 



In that low-roofed house, so weird and so gray, 
That stands on a street so out of the way, 
I 've long found shelter, in peace and in strife. 
From the tempests that howl on the ocean of life. 

As a time-worn book, or long-written page. 
That old house, like me, is hoary with age; 
Yet 't is a record of times when life was still young, 
And the songs of the heart still sweetly were sung! 

One eve as I sat at the close of the day 

On its vine-covered porch, going fast to decay. 

My thoughts wandered back thro' the dim, misty years 

To the graves I had dug and watered with tears. 

As the shadows of eve were deep'ning to-night. 
And the house looked weird in the moonbeams bright, 
I called up in fancy the ones I had lost. 
Who o'er its worn steps so often had crossed. 



First, softly fell upon my ear 

The pattering sound of childish feet; 
Anon, the merry ringing notes 

Of childish voices, soft and sweet. 

And then two childish forms appeared. 
With sparkling eyes, and faces bright 

As sunbeams on the blooming rose, 
Or lily kissed by morning light! 

Two little children — bright were they — 
Who used to sit upon my knee; 

They called me father, and I wept 
When they at last were lost to me. 



374 THE OLD HOUSE. 

I sought to detain them, but they would not stay; 

Like shadows they came, and like dreams passed away! 



And then came one with hoary head, 
Who oft with me had broken bread, 
And in the house had found a bed 

When day was o'er, 
And many a page with me had read 

Of quaint old lore. 

He was a man somewhat of note, 

Full of amusing anecdote. 

And many a passage he could quote 

From written page, 
Of what the famous authors wrote 

Of ancient age. 

I knew him in the days of yore, 
Ere Time his head had silvered o'er. 
And wayward Fortune smiled no more, 

But passed him by — 
And left him on a barren shore 

Alone to die. 

But now he came as in old time. 
When he was in his manhood's prime, 
All full of jokes, and comic rhyme. 

And merry glee. 
And often, too, with high, sublime 

Philosophy! 

He looked around right cheerily. 
And cast a pleasant glance at me; 
Smiled at the simple things which he 

Had seen before. 
And very glad he seemed to be 

With me once more. 



THE OLD HOUSE. 375 

But ere I could greet my old-fashioned friend; 

And beg him a moment to stay, 
Like a swift-passing shadow, or a dim, misty dream, 

He had fled and melted away! 



And then came one of lofty form; 
- He had a pensive face; 
And on his thoughtful brow he bore 
The lines that sorrows trace — 

He looked at me kindly, as slowly he passed. 
And his looks seemed to say he was happy at last. 



Anon, I heard a lilting strain 

That told of heathery hills, 
Of shady glens, and sunny glades. 

And murmuring mountain rills. 

And then came one in tartans clad; 

A minstrel's harp he bore. 
And in his jaunty bonnet blue 

A Scottish thistle wore. 

I knew him as a Scottish bard. 

On whom Dame Fortune had been hard; 

A man whose life was illy starred 

In his old age, 
And, too, with whom I 'd often shared 

My daily wage. 

The wayward Muse we often sought, 
And from her notes we sometimes caught 
Of jingling verse and rhyming thought. 

Which, (truth to tell), 
While they by none were ever bought, 

They paid us well. 

He melted away in a wild, lilting strain. 

Yet I 'm sure that some day I '11 see him again! 



376 THE OLD HOUSE. 

And then came one of wayward race, 
With gentle eye and childish face; 
A gifted son of earth was he, 
But giv'n to sip the barley bree. 

I often had him counsel given, 

And often had him fed, 
And in the old house oft he 'd found 

A shelter and a bed. 

When I would chide him he would weep, 

And promise make to me 
That never while on earth he lived 

He 'd taste the barley bree. 

He gave me a smile of sweetest delight 
As he faded away in the shadows of night. 



Who knows ? Perhaps, from off the tree 

That in the garden grows. 
The hand I clasped in bygone days 

May pluck a blooming rose! 

Who knows ? Perhaps, beside my chair 
That by the old hearth stands. 

Old friends may come and soothe my brow 
With loving, viewless hands! 

Who knows? Perhaps, in this old house 
They still keep their abode — 

May weep with me, and laugh with me, 
And help to bear my load! 

San Francisco, January 15, 1893. 



THEY HAVE ALL GONE BEFORE. 



" Say, whither away, 

So late in the day. 
Do you journey, old man of sorrow ? 

Your garments are torn. 

Your sandals are worn, 
Come, rest with me till to-morrow!" 

"No; I must still journey on, 
For my friends have all gone, — 

Yes, all have gone on before me; 
No halt can I make. 
Nor rest can I take. 

Where none I can find who know me." 

" Now, tell me, who are they 
Who have all gone away. 

And left you so old and weary, 
To journey alone 
Where you are unknown, 

On this highway, so cold and dreary ? " 

" One soothed me to rest 

Upon her soft breast. 
As she taught me to lisp * Mother ' ! 

And often at play. 

In life's early day, 
I romped with sister and brother! 

" And one there was fair 
As fresh lilies are. 

Whose sweet voice used to greet me, 
When weary and worn, 
With the toils I had borne. 

With bright smiles she would meet me! 



378 THEY HAVE ALL GONE BEFORE. 

" That sweet face I now see 
As it then looked on me, 

But, oh! it is bitterly weeping 
O'er a little curly head, 
Which on a white bed. 

Like a cherub in marble, is sleeping. 

" 'T is many a long day 
Since they all went away, 

And left me alone in my sorrow. 
But well do I know 
That this journey, though slow, 

Will end in some brighter to-morrow! 

" So, I must still travel on 
Till my journey is done, 

When I '11 meet my lost ones again; 
But no halt can I make. 
Nor rest can I take, 

While here on the earth I remain." 

San Francisco, i8S8. 



THE MINSTREL'S LAST SONG. 

( ON A SICK BED IN PROSPECT OF DEATH.) 



I FEEL the chilling damps of death! 

Pale, shadowy forms around me stand, 
And gentle voices, low and sweet. 

Are whispering of some beauteous land- 
Some land of sweet repose. 

Quick! bring the harp of softest note 
That e'er the minstrel's hand has strung, 

And I will sing a dying strain — 
The sweetest yet that e'er I 've sung — 
Ere this wild life shall close. 

Farewell, ye flowery fields of earth ! 

Ye sunny skies and winding streams! 
Farewell to life! its loves and woes, 

And all its wild, fantastic dreams — 
The minstrel sings no more. 

No; ne'er on earth, his sounding harp 
Will chain the list'ning ear again. 

Or bid the tear of sorrow flow. 
Responsive to its melting strain — 
Its tuneful notes are o'er. 

Come near me now, ye cherished ones! 

The sands of life are ebbing fast; 
A misty veil hangs o'er my sight; 

The minstrel's wayward life is past, 
His toils on earth are done. 

No more on Fancy's airy wing 

He '11 roam the beauteous realms of light; 
Nor, led by Passion's baleful fires. 

Will wander 'mid the glooms of night — 
His fitful race is run. 



38o THE MINSTRELS LAST SONG. 

Nay, weep not yet; I would not now 
Call back the ebbing tide of life, 

To count again earth's weary years, 
Or tread again its paths of strife — 
Life's bitter tears to shed. 

But, when this heart has ceased to beat. 
And pale in death this brow shall sleep, 

When all but Love shall be forgot — 
Then, let such tears as Love may weep, 
Fall o'er the minstrel's head. 

Perchance, in brighter lands than earth, 
The flowers of beauty still Ym.y bloom; 

Perchance, the dying son of song, 
Beyond the shadowy pass of gloom, 
May tune his lyre again! 

Perchance, 'mid flowers of fadeless bloom, 
He may recall his land of birth; 

Perchance, in tuneful voice again. 
May sing the songs he sang on earth — 
But in far sweeter strain! 

Perchance, upon the wandering breeze 
That softly fans the evening's breast, 

He '11 seek again his earthly home. 
To whisper of a land of rest, 

When Hfe's wild storms are o'er. 

Then farewell, all ye earthly scenes, — 
Ye sunny skies! ye winding streams! 

Farewell to life! its loves and woes; 
Passed are the minstrel's airy dreams — 
He sings on earth no more. 

San Francisco, 1869. 



I'LL STRIKE THE EPIC LYRE NO MORE. 



No MORE of bloody war I '11 sing, 
Of ghastly fields of carnage red 

With human blood, by human hands 
In brutal strife and battle shed. 

Then, take the epic lyre away! 

r 11 never touch its chords again; 
And bring to me the Doric reed, 

And I will pipe a pastoral strain — 

Of running brooks and flowery vales, 
Of meadows green and peaceful herds, 

Of summer fields and waving corn. 
Of vernal groves and warbling birds! 

I'll catch the skylark's silvery note 
As up he springs to greet the morn; 

1 '11 list the song the linnet sings 
So sweetly in the flowery thorn. 

I '11 seek the banks where daisies bloom; 

I '11 pluck the rosebud wet with dew; 
The lily pale and snowdrop white 

I '11 twine with flowers of azure hue. 

In early morn I '11 shepherds seek. 
And roam with them the sunny glade; 

At sultry noon with them repose 
Beneath the leafy poplar's shade. 

And, when the summer day is o'er, 
At dewy eve I '11 sink to rest 

Beneath the shepherd's humble roof, 
Without a care upon my breast. 

Then, tell me not of bloody war, 
Of ghastly fields of carnage red 

With human blood, by human hands 
In brutal strife and battle shed! 
San Francisco, 1878. 



DEATH SCENE. 



Give me a drop of barley bree, 
And sing to me a cheerful song, 

Ere I shall close my eyes in death 
And sleep among the dusty throng! 

You need not mind that ghastly One 
Who shakes his shadowy dart at me; 

He can not strike the fatal blow 
Till I have drunk the barley bree! 

Another cup! another still! 

While yet I 'm on the mortal brink — 
Another cup! and 't is the last 

That ever I on earth shall drink. 

Now do your worst, my ghastly friend! 

Strike when you will the fatal blow — 
For I 've no more to do on earth 

And am contented now to go. 

But, hold! what magic change is this 
That falls upon my fading sight ? 

Where stood that ghastly goblin grim 
I now behold a damsel bright! 

Upon her cheek the rosebud blooms! 

With living breath her bosom swells! 
And on her laughing brow she wears 

A wreath of blooming immortelles! 

One hand she reaches out to me, 
The other points far, far away — 

To where what seems a fairy-land, 
Where Hlies bloom and fountains play. 

Hush— let me hear the silvery voice 
That falls so sweetly on mine ear — 



DEATH SCENE. — THE TWO HARPS. 383 

With smiling face she bids me come, 
And nothing I shall have to fear. 

Adieu, my friends! I can not stay — 

So I will bid you all good-bye! 
And, as I 'm going, I will say 

'T is not — a — fear — ful— thing — io—die ! 

San Francisco, 1869. 



THE TWO HARPS. 



Two harps I have of magic string. 
To each of which I sometimes sing; 
One by a gentle spirit strung 
While yet the dewy morn was young; 
The other strung with brazen wire, 
By demons wrought in hellish fire! 
I do not like its dev'lish tone, 
And, (when I can), let it alone. 



San Francisco, 1879. 



OLD MAN AND DEATH. 



OLD MAN. 

Well met, pale Death! you' ve come at last- 

And welcome are to me; 
For, from these old and worn-out bones 

I 'm anxious to get free. 

So, cut the thread! and quickly, too,— 

And with you I will go, 
And to what^/a^^, I will not ask, 

Nor do I care to know. 

But tell me first, if this you will, 
Why long you 've passed me by. 

And hurried off the rich and great 
Who were so loath to die ? 

DEATH. 

I but an agent am, old man, 

In Nature's world of Cause, 
To carry out what is decreed 

By her well-ordered laws. 

The bloated, proud, and grasping ones, 

Full fed by greed and wrong, 
Would in the end o'errun the earth 

Could they their lives prolong; 

Just as the weeds of fattest growth. 

Were they allowed to stand. 
Would choke the useful plants of earth 

And poison all the land. 

The farmer tills his fruitful soil. 

And reaps the ripened wheat. 
But he roots out the noxious weeds 

And kills the worthless cheat. 



\ 



OLD MAN AND DEATH. 385 

Now, I the gardener am of earth, 

And keep a watchful eye; 
I cut the rank and filthy weed, 

But pass the corn-plant by; 

And let it stand, until its leaves 

Are withered all and sere. 
When, with a kind and gentle hand, 

I reap the ripened ear. 

In your long life of four-score years, 

No pompous name you 've won, 
But still within your humble sphere 

Some good you 've surely done. 

For gentle word, or simplest act 

Done at unselfish cost. 
Will in some future have effect 

Which never can be lost. 

But, now, your mortal task is o'er, 

And you 've no more to do, 
And 1, the Reaper, here have come 

At last to harvest you. 

So, come along! nor fear to walk 

With man's last friend on earth. 
Who is as kind as is the one 

That watches o'er his birth. 

I keep a quiet wayside lodge 

Hard by the Stygian deep. 
Where, ere you cross the silent stream. 

You '11 take a pleasant sleep; 

From which you *ll wake to higher life 

Beyond the soundless shore. 
Where your old worn and weary bones 

Will never pain you more. 

San Francisco, September 3, 1893. 



LET ME NOT SLEEP IN THE VALLEY LOW. 



Oh, let me not sleep 

In the valley low, 
Where the earth is damp 

And the rank weeds grow; 
Where the cold mist hangs 

O'er the reedy brake. 
And the green frog croaks 

In the dismal lake; 
No, let me not sleep 

In the valley low. 

Nor yet would I sleep 

In the churchyard old, 
'Neath green, mossy stones 

And dark, crumbling mould; 
Where the yew-tree grows 

And the willow waves 
O'er the bones that rot 

In forgotten graves; 
No, I would not sleep 

In the churchyard old. 

But make me a bed 

On the mountain high. 
Where the lightnings flash 

When the storm sweeps by; 
Where the eagle soars 

From its rocky nest, 
And the white snow sleeps 

On the mountain's breast; 
Yes, make me a bed 

On the mountain high! 

Yes, lay me to rest 
Where the thunder speaks 



LET ME NO T SLEEP LN THE VALLEY LOW. 387 

From the cloud as it sweeps 

O'er the mountain peaks, 
And the sun looks bright 

From an azure sky, 
When the storm has passed 

And the cloud gone by; 
Yes, lay me to rest 

Where the thunder speaks! 

Then my spirit will sport 

On the wings of the blast, 
And ride on the sunbeam 

When the tempest has passed; 
Up! through the bright azure 

'T will wing its swift flight, 
And bathe in the ether 

At the flood-gates of light; 
And bathe in the ether 

At the flood-gates of light! 

But I could not rest 

In the valley low. 
Where the earth is damp 

And the rank weeds grow. 
Where the cold mist hangs 

O'er the reedy brake, 
And the green frog croaks 

In the dismal lake; 
No, I could not rest 

In the valley low. 

In the Sierra Madre of Mexico, 1881. 



BONES AND THE GRAVE-DIGGER/ 



" Good frend, for Jesu's sake forbeare 
to digg the dvst encloased here ; 

BlESE be ye. man YT. spares THES STONES, 

And cvrst be he yt. moves my bones." 

—Shakespeare's Epitaph. 

BONES. 

Hold! Vandal, hold your savage spade, 
Nor dig where these old bones are laid, 
Where loving ones have made their bed 
And tears of sorrow o'er them shed, 
And bade the drooping willows weep 
In silence o'er their quiet sleep! 

In yon old church a record 's found 
Which tells that this is holy ground, 
That by a Christian priest 't was blessed 
And made a place of holy rest, 
Where Christian bones in peace may stay 
Until the resurrection day; 
Then, Vandal, hold your savage spade. 
Nor dig where these old bones are laid! 

DIGGER. 

All that you say, perhaps, is true, 
And so I '11 not dispute with you. 
As I 'm but working by the day 
To move these rotting bones away. 

This piece of ground has just been sold, 
(I do not know for how much gold). 
And I am ordered now to take 
Away this rubbish, and thus make 

* Written on the occasion of removing bodies from the consecrated 
ground of the Mission Dolores Churchyard, to make room for a street. 



BONES AND THE GRAVE-DIGGER. 389 

A highway fit for thriving trade, 

By which much money may be made! 

BONES. 

If this be true, then well I know 
That from this spot these bones must go, 
For ever since Priest Aaron made 
His golden calf, has Mammon played 
The ruling lord of all the earth. 
Wherever man has had his birth — 
From him who gnaws a cast-off bone 
To him who sits upon a throne; 
From him who fruit to market brings 
To him who deals in sacred things. 

Of thee a favor I will ask. 
And, as 't will be an easy task, 
I hope that this you '11 do for me, 
Since I as much would do for thee: 

When from their rest these bones are ta'en, 
Do not inter them o'er again, 
But make of them a funeral pyre 
And give them to consuming fire — 
And, when they are to ashes burned 
And to the dust they have returned. 
Then scatter them upon the wind. 
That on its wings they then may find 
A place of rest, where ne'er again 
They '11 be disturbed by greed of gain! 
I care not where the dust may sleep — 
On mountain top or rolling deep, 
'Mid summer flowers or Arctic snow, 
Where tempests howl or breezes blow — 
So they a quiet spot may reach 
Where hypocrite may never preach ; 
Where virtue is not bought and sold. 
Nor sacred things exchanged for gold. 

San Francisco, 1889. 



THE ARGONAUTS OF CALIFORNIA. 



From every land and clime they came, 

The men of Forty-nine; 
O'er mountain, plain, and stormy sea, 

To seek the golden mine! 

From land of rock and mountain pine; 

From where the palm-tree grows; 
From burning sands and tropic plains. 

And from the Arctic snows! 

From sunny vales and vine-clad hills. 
And lands of meadows green; 

From where the low-roofed cottage stands 
By lakes of silver sheen. 

The farmer left his growing fields; 

The merchant left his store; 
The student left his classic shade, 

All for the golden shore! 

The vintner left his clustering vines 

Amid the Alpine hills; 
The shepherd left his grazing herds 

Beside the mountain rills; 

The father left his little ones; 

The son his parents old; 
The bridegroom left his blooming bride. 

All for the land of gold! 

And many a picture bright they drew 

Of happy days in store, 
When to their homes they would return 

All rich in golden ore. 

Where are they now — those gallant men 
Who then so proudly stood 



THE ARGONAUTS OF CALIFORNIA. 391 

In mountain wilds, on arid plains, 
And by the rolling flood ? 

Go read the records carved in stone 

Where sleep the silent dead, 
And they will tell that many there 

Have found a quiet bed. 

And some by mountain streams repose, 

No willows o'er them weep, 
Nor storied marbles mark the spots 

Where they in silence sleep. 

The mountain winds a requiem sing. 

And coldly fall the snows 
Upon the lone, deserted graves 

Where now their bones repose. 

And some remain; of whom d^ few 

By thrift have prospered well. 
As palace grand, and flocks and herds, 

And fruitful farms will tell! 

But more, alas! in weary age. 

With poverty alone, 
Are left to mourn their early hopes 

Which have forever flown. 

Yon aged man, now so forlorn. 

All worn with want and care. 
Is one who came in early times 

With hopes all bright and fair! 

But now he walks the streets alone. 

The piteous sight you see. 
And, with a trembling voice, he asks 

The stranger's charity. 

Repulse him not; for many a time 

The suffering poor he 's fed, 
And to the houseless stranger given 

A shelter and a bed. 



392 THE ARGONAUTS OF CALIFORNIA, 

Oh, ye who came in later days, 
When cities great had grown, 

Remember that you 're reaping now 
Where those brave men have sown! 

They broke the stubborn glebe, and cleared 

The thorny brier away, 
And ploughed the virgin soil where waves 

The golden grain to-day! 

Then give to them the justice due, 

Although they sadly stand 
Without a roof to shelter them. 

And not a rood of land. 

Aye, do them reverence — for to them 

Ye owe a lasting debt, 
Which generous hearts and manly souls 

Will surely not forget! 

Reproach them not, although they failed 

In prosperous times to ride 
Into a sunny harbor snug 

Upon a flowing tide. 

A few more circling years will pass. 

And you will see no more 
A man who came in Forty-nine 

Unto the golden shore. 

San Francisco, 1869. 



A LOS MEJICANOS DE CALIFORNIA. 



i Do estan, Mejicanos, los hombres honrosos, 
De nombres celebrados, y memorias gloriosas, 
Que en tiempos antiguos 6. la costa venieron, 

Y con brazos fuertes el desierto conquistaron ? 

i Los Moncadas' y Serras', Vallejos' y Carrillos', 
Los Guerras' y Argiiellos', Peraltas' y Estudillos', 
Los Neves' y Pages', Galindos' y Rosales', 
Los Castros' y Avilas', Romeros' y Morales' ? 

Duermen en polvo en los desiertos lugares, 
En donde se hallaban sus dichosos hogares; 

Y la noche solita, en gotas de rocio 
Llora sobre sus suenos en el suelo tan frio. 

i Do estan los hijos, d ellos nacidos, 
Los hombres robustos y doncellas queridas ? 
Las aves de la noche ora labran sus nidos 
En las tristes ruinas do fueron nacidos. 

^ Y do estan las fiestas que ellos gozaban, 
Las voces de amores que ellos cantaban ? 
Como suenos de la noche, para siempre pasadas, 

Y en triste silencio para siempre calladas. 

Si, para siempre pasados son los tiempos dichosos, 
Con sus dias alegres, y costumbres hermosos; 
De su beldad y gozos, y dulces amores. 
No se quedan ahora sino tristes memorias. 

Aunque yo soy de una raza estraiia, 

Y no corre mis venas el sangre de Espafia, 
No puedo dejar de honrar d los hombres 
Que dejaron al pais sus obras y nombres. 

Honrad! entonces, i los hombres honrosos, 
De nombres celebrados, y memorias gloriosas, 
Que en tiempos antiguos i la costa venieron, 

Y con brazos fuertes el desierto conquistaron. 

San Francisco, Ano 1886. 



THE IMMORTAL SPIRIT. 



The Immortal Spirit, a spark stricken from the Rock of Eternal Exist- 
ence, will never perish ! 

The flame of the spirit can never be quenched, 
Though its Hght for a time be obscured; 

Since its source is the fountain of Being Divine, 
Its life is forever assured! 

In the sensual garb in which it is clothed 
On its journey through the Valleys of Earth, 

'Mid the wants and the passions the body begets, 
It forgets the bright land of its birth. 

But the shadows that darken the chambers of night 
Are scattered by the light of the morn, 

And the darkness that clouds the spirit on earth 
Disappears when anew it is born. 

Then judge not as lost the low and depraved; 

The children of Darkness and Sin; 
Had their lots been brighter when cast upon earth, 

Fair beings of beauty they'd been. 

One drop of the ocean is a part of the whole, 

Alike in its being and kind; 
And a spark that is stricken from the Infinite Source, 

Is a part of the Infinite Mind! 

As the roses that bloom uncultured and wild 
Improve, when in gardens they 're placed, — 

And the fruits of the forest, so bitter and sour, 
When cultured, are sweet to the taste, — 

So the being that 's born in darkness and sin 

And knows but of sensual desire. 
By kindness and care, in time may be led 

To the bright and the good to aspire! 



THE IMMORTAL SPIRIT. 395 

As the light that is smouldering by life-giving breath 

May be waked to brightness again, — 
So the soul may be led to seek for the Light 

That long in the darkness has lain. 

Then, ever speak kindly to poor, erring ones, 

The children of Discord and Wrong, 
And teach them to look to the bright, shining world 

To which their pure spirits belong. 

The laurels that are won on the red field of Mars 

Are stained with a dark, crimson dye, 
And the songs that are sung in the warrior's praise 

Are burthened with the orphan's sigh; 

And the gold that is gathered by the miser's care 
And coined from the blood of the poor. 

Will cling to his heart in a red, burning chain, 
When he can use his treasure no more. 

But he who by love and charity leads 

A soul from darkness to light, 
Will be crowned with flowers, which freshly will bloom, 

When the sun no longer is bright! 

Tucson, Arizona, 1884. 



THE HERMIT AND THE PRINCE: 

A LESSON OF LIFE. 



AGRA, a recluse of the Indian mountains. 

ALKAK, a young Indian Prince, in search of knowledge. 



AGRA. 

What seeks the prince at Agra's mountain cave ? 
Art weary of the nautch-girl's song and dance; 
Does Pleasure's voice no longer charm the ear, 
And forms of beauty please no more the eye, 
That now Prince Alkar seeks the rocky cave 
Where Agra dwells 'mid Nature's solitude ? 

ALKAR. 

I 've come to Agra's cave in search of truth! 
Of knowledge of my mysterious being, 
And what may be the end of my existence. 

I 've read the sacred books; they tell me nought — 
I 've looked upon the glorious sun by day — 
The moon, and ever-beaming stars by night! 
They move in silence through the soundless deep, 
But tell me nought of what I seek to know. 

I 've seen the lightning smite the gnarled oak. 

And slay the infant on its mother's breast; 

I 've seen the earthquake rend the rugged mountain, 

And make the fruitful vale a barren waste; 

I 've seen the sea engulf the stately bark, 

When lashed to fury by the angry storm; 

I 've seen gaunt Famine strew the earth with bones, 

And spotted Pestilence mark its loathsome track 

With festering human' flesh! 



THE HERMIT AND THE PRINCE. 397 

These tell of nought 
But senseless force and blind destructive power. 

I 've seen red-handed Murder walk the earth; 
The strong oppress the weak, and cruel War, 
With fire and sword destroy the Beautiful, 
And leave fair Nature's face a blackened waste! 
All these tell but of cruel thirst for blood — 
They fill my soul with horror and disgust, 
And make me doubt the wisdom of creation. 

AGRA. 

Desire to know, is the first step to wisdom ; 
This thou now hast taken! List to Agra's words. 
And with patience hear all that he can teach 
Of the mysterious laws of life and being. 
Look to the East and tell me what thou seest. 

ALKAR. 

A snow-clad mountain peak that rises high 
Into the clear ether; around its base 
The darkness gathers, while on its summit 
The golden sunbeams linger still! 

AGRA. 

Behold in this an emblem of the path 
That leads to knowledge! — 

Mind is progressive; 
The higher it ascends the scale of being, 
The clearer its far-reaching glance becomes; 
Low in the valley all is mist and darkness, 
While on the lofty mountain peak the sunbeams 
Pour a flood of living light and glory. 

Nor Mind alone this beauteous law obeys — 

All forms material, in Nature's boundless realms. 

As in the scale of being they ascend. 

Become more beautiful; the golden cloud 

That floats upon the far-ofl" azure deep, 

Sprang from the stagnant pool; the butterfly 

That sports on painted wing from flower to flower, 



398 THE HERMIT AND THE PRINCE. 

Was yesterday a foul, unsightly worm! 
All forms material are but transient things — 
The snowflake melts beneath the morning sun; 
The floweret fades before the autumn's breath, 
And rock-ribbed mountains crumble into dust 
From which the fruitful summer harvest springs; 
And this, creation is; 'tis birth! 'tis life! 
And 't is death — which nought but transition is. 
Thus, Beauty from Corruption springs, and Life 
Is born of Darkness and Decay. 

ALKAR. 

From the insensate dust of former life 

I know that Life and Beauty spring anew — 

The seed decays, and from it springs the plant; 

The beast is born, and to the dust returns; 

Both plant and beast produce their kind, and die, 

And ne'er again upon the earth are seen; 

And man! with all his powers of mind, hke them, 

Is born; like them, he lives ; like them, he dies, 

And, like them, to insensate dust returns. 

What better then is his unhappy lot 

Than that of vilest worm that crawls the earth, 

Or summer insect, in the morning born, 

To perish ere the evening sun has set ? 

AGRA. 

All forms their circles of existence have — 

From the ungainly root ascends the stem; 

The graceful branches spring from this, and these 

Are clothed with emerald leaves and fragrant flowers 

Which contain the germs of new creations. 

No higher can the //««/ ascend in being; 
It dies, and to its mother earth returns. 

The faithful dog 
Looks to his master as his only god. 
And is supremely happy in his smile; 
Nor longs for any higher state of being! 



THE HERMIT AND THE PRINCE. 399 

The insect sports its little life away 

Amid the flowers of summer; nor needs, nor dreams 

Of any brighter future! 

These fill the measure of their sensuous lives, 

And die, and to insensate dust return; 

And man! he, like the speechless brute, is born; 

Like it, his mortal form decays and dies. 

And to the all-forgetting dust returns; 

But though his mortal form returns to dust, 

And never more upon the earth is seen. 

The spark immortal ^^XW all brightly glows; 

As quenchless as Eternal Being is! 

That this is so, great Nature's voice proclaims 
Through all the infinite realms of being — 
From blade of grass to tallest mountain pine; 
From smallest mote that in the sunbeam floats 
To mightiest orb that lights the midnight sky; 
From tiniest insect to the loftiest mind 
That dwells in highest realms of being. 

Why ever seeks the restless mind of man 

For that which lies beyond its highest reach ? 

Why does the gray-haired sage in anguish toil 

For knowledge, and die from want with thirst unquenched? 

Why does Ambition seek to rule the world ? 

Why does the miser toil for needless gold? 

And why does bitter Anguish seek relief 

In the forgetful cup and madd'ning bowl ? 

These are but struggles of the Immortal Mind 
For that which ne'er can be obtained on earth; 
But fruitless efforts to break the prison bars 
In which 'tis chained an exile from its home. 
This transient life on earth is but probation. 
In which, by patient toil, the soul 's prepared 
For entrance to a higher state of being; 
And suffering needful is, to purge the soul 
From sensual dross, as fire refines the gold. 



400 THE HERMIT AND THE PRINCE. 

ALKAR. 

The words of Agra fall on Alkar's ear 
Like sweetest music, and refresh his soul 
As do soft summer showers the thirsty earth; 
But tell me, hoary sage, if this thou canst: 
What occupies the soul, when it has reached 
The shadowy realms of that mysterious land ? 
Do dreamy languor and eternal rest 
Fall on the soul in that bright land of beauty ? 

AGRA. 

There is, my son, " No royal road to knowledge " — 
From patient search and toil, bright wisdom springs; 
The mind of man must ever active be. 
And before it ever lies an unknown future: 
Ambition seeks for that which it has not; 
The student toils for what he does not know; 
And Hope dwells ever in an unknown land! 

Go sound the depths of Nature's darkest caves, 

And soar aloft to realms of purest light! 

Count all the orbs that gem the brow of night! 

Explain the laws that guide them, and that give 

Each material atom its appointed place 

In the mighty circle of creation — 

Grasp, if thou canst, the Infinite Universe ! 

This none but the Infinite Mind can do; 
For the All-Etnbracing must all things know ! 
Thus, to the finite mind, there ever is, 
And must forever be, an unknown future, 
Until it reach Nirvana, the abode 
Where Brahma dwells. 

ALKAR. 

If this be so, why come not those who dwell 
In that bright land beyond the pass of shadows 
To visit those who linger still in Time, 
And cheer them in this vale of tears, with hope 
Of brighter things than e'er are seen on earth ? 



THE HERMIT AND THE PRINCE. 401 

AGRA. 

The gilded butterfly no converse holds 
Directly with the sleeping chrysalis, 
Though from the worm the butterfly is born; 
Yet still, between the worm and butterfly, 
While one in an unconscious torpor sleeps, 
And one sports gayly on the summer breeze. 
There is a sympathetic bond of union. 

And thus the beings who have passed frora earth, 
And dwell amid the light of brighter worlds, 
May hold communion (though unseen) with those 
Who linger still upon the shores of Time — 
The soul, when it ascends above the sphere 
Of sensual life, communion holds with those 
Who dwell amid the higher realms of being, 
From whence comes Inspiration's light to earth — 

Bright Inspiration lights its burning torch 
At the living flame that forever beams 
From the pinnacle of Wisdom's temple. 
While Analysis ever toils with pain 
Within the shadow of its lofty dome! 

ALKAR. 

Do those who pass the shadowy bounds of Time 
Remember still the things they did on earth, 
And meet with those they knew and loved in life ? 

AGRA. 

Immortal memory never dies, but lives 
Forever in the highest realms of being. 
And like seeks like through all the universe; 
And those who loved on earth may meet again 
Beyond the gloomy vale where Yama dwells! 

ALKAR. 

A beauteous flower once bloomed by Alkar's side — 
'T was early blighted by untimely frost, 
Since when no light has beamed upon his soul. 



402 THE HERMIT AND THE PRINCE, 

Does th?it sweet flower still for Alkar bloom 
Beyond the reach of Yama's chilling breath ? 

AGRA. 

The fairest flower that blooms in Paradise, 
Was nurtured once by earthly hands and tears. 
By Alkar's side I see a maiden young, 
With face of wondrous beauty; on her brow 
She wears a wreath of roses, and in her hand 
A lily bears, which she to Alkar gives! 
Does Alkar know who this fair being is ? 

ALKAR. 

'T is the sweet flower which once for Alkar bloomed^ 
And which stern Yama rudely plucked while yet 
Upon its breast the dews of morning lay. 
Why cannot Alkar this bright vision see ? 

AGRA. 

He cannot see the gentle breeze that fans 

The morning's brow and lulls the eve to rest; 

The rose's breath his vision cannot catch; 

The bolt that rends the rugged oak to him 

Is viewless as the form of fleeting thought; 

Yet these material are, as are the rocks 

Of which yon towering mount is formed, and clouds 

That hang around its lofty peaks! 

Nor can his vision catch the forms ethereal 
Of those who dwell in higher realms than earth; 
Nor hear can his dull ear the voices sweet 
That wake the echoes of that land of beauty! 
Yet, these bright beings have material forms 
Which they can someiimes show to mortal sight,. 
And voices sweet, which on an earthly ear 
May sometimes fall in tones of sweetest music. 

The one that Alkar loved and sadly lost 
In Yama's chilling vale, now sings to him 
In sweetest notes a gentle song of love; 
Her voice is soft, and sweeter far than sound 



THE HERMIT AND THE PRINCE. 403 

Of sleeping harp by summer breezes waked! 
List the song of love she sings to Alkar: 

For Alkar I wait 
By the bright, silver stream, 
Where the white lily blooms 
In the sun's golden beam; 
Where the white lily blooms 
In the sun's golden beam, — 
For Alkar I wait 
By the bright, silver stream! 

For Alkar I wait 
Where the birds ever sing. 
Where autumn ne'er comes, 

Nor winter is seen; 
Where the white lily blooms 
In the sun's golden beam, — 
For Alkar I wait 
By the bright, silver stream ! 

ALKAR. 

The words are sweeter far to Alkar's ear 
Than sound of harp or voice of softest lute; 
But how does Agra's eye this vision see. 
And Agra's ear this gentle music hear, — 
While Alkar's longing eye beholds it not, 
And Alkar's listening ear no music hears ? 

AGRA. 

For three-score years and ten has Agra dwelt 

Alone amid these mountain solitudes — 

His drink has been the crystal stream; his food 

The simple herb, with milk of mountain goat; 

No flesh of slaughtered beast has fouled his lips, 

Nor drop of deadly drink has fired his blood; 

Communion has he held with Nature's laws — 

As seen in azure sky and golden cloud. 

In blooming flower and fading autumn leaf. 

In sun, and moon, and shining star, and all 



404 THE HERMIT AND THE PRINCE. 

The hosts that wander through the soundless deep! 
As heard when loud the tempest pipes its notes 
And softly sings the summer evening breeze! 
When the loud thunder shakes the trembling earth; 
When the merry skylark greets the dewy morn, 
And when the cricket chirps its evening song! 

The mind, thus raised above the sensual plane, 
May sometimes converse hold with those who dwell 
In that bright land where Yama has no power; 
And thus can Agra now communion hold 
With those who dwell in that bright land of beauty. 

ALKAR. 

How may Alkar best himself prepare to meet 
His lost Alkana in that sweet land of love. 
And to hold converse with the beings bright 
Who dwell beneath its ever-beaming skies, 
And gather blooming flowers and golden fruits 
In fields where falls no bitter, biting frost, 
And where no blighting storms are felt ? 

AGRA. 

When Alkar leaves this life at Yama's call, 
His worn-out body to the earth returns, 
To form, perchance, a flower, or tree, or beast; 
While that which we call soul, or mind, or spirit, 
Goes to the place for which 'tis best prepared, 
In strict obedience to that moral law 
Which forces like its kindred like to seek, 
Through all the infinite realms of Nature. 

Then, if Alkar hopes, when Yama calls him hence, 

To meet Alkana in that land of beauty. 

To hear the songs that thrill its emerald plains 

And wake the echoes of its purple hills, 

Let him with earnest patience seek the Good! 

Avoid as death all envy, pride, and hate; 

Drive malice from his soul, nor cherish aught 

That may defile the sweet face of Beauty; 



THE HERMIT AND THE PRINCE. 405 

Speak kindly to the wretched, broken-hearted, 
Nor crush with cruel words poor erring ones; 
Plant in the garden of his soul sweet flowers 
Of beauty, and on them breathe the breath of love! 
Let gentle Charity his companion be. 
And ever heed sweet Pity's pleading voice — 
So, when the chilling storms of life are o'er, 
And Yama calls him to the beauteous land. 
Then shall he meet his loved and lost Alkana, 
With other happy kindred ones, who have, 
Like him, themselves a dwelling bright prepared 
Amid the blooming bowers of Paradise! 

ALKAR. 

Thanks, reverend sage! thy lesson Alkar hears; 
No more he '11 shed the bitter, hopeless tear, 
O'er withered flowers and perished earthly hopes; 
But, will with patience bear the ills of life. 
With cheering hope that, when the night is o'er, 
A brighter day for him will surely dawn 
Beyond the chilling vale where Yama dwells. 

AGRA. 

And now, my son, 'tis time to seek repose; 
To-morrow, we '11 again pursue the path 
That leads to knowledge! 

Santa Catalina Mountains, Arizona, 1882. 



DRIFTING. 



1 DREAMED I had hcaved my anchor apeak; 

That I was drifting away on an ebbing tide; 
That I was drifting, drifting, drifting away — 

That I was drifting away on an ocean wide ! 

No pilot I needed; the current it bore me 
Through the mists that hung o'er the stormless sea, 

Whose dark, rolHng waves no echoes return 
As they break on the shores of Eternity. 

From the dim, misty shore, fast fading from view, 
A low, murmuring sound fell faint on my ear; 

I heard the harsh echoes of discord and strife. 
The sweet song of Hope, and the wail of Despair! 



I 



The wild echoes ceased — the sounds died away— 
The shores I had left were lost to my sight; 

But yet, o'er the deep I still drifted on 
'Mid the silence of death and the blackness of night. 

In soft slumber I sank to a dreamless repose; 

No life coursed my veins, nor thrilled in my breast; 
The past was forgot — for the Angel of Death 

In a Lethean sleep had laid me to rest. 

From my slumber I woke! and saw in the East 
The soft, rosy tints of a bright, vernal morn; 

And I knew by the joy that thrilled in my soul, 
That from my past life a new being was born! 

San Francisco, 1885. 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS BETWEEN 

A STUDENT OF NATURE AND 

SAGES OF ANTIQUITY. 



From childhood, Life, however expressed through the myriad forms in 
Nature, has, in all places and under all circumstances, been the absorbing 
thought of my mind. 

While still a youth, (as far back as sixty years), I found it impossible to 
harmonize the Biblical account of Creation— of the fall and redemption of 
man — as interpreted by theological creeds, with the universal revealings of 
Nature. I was therefore compelled, in justice to an honest conviction, to 
discard the same as an absolute rule of faith and conduct; without, how- 
ever, losing any respect therefor as an ancient record of the past, teach- 
ing sublime truths, and containing grand poetical conceptions clothed in 
the language of Oriental allegory; and, too, without in any degree losing 
my reverence, or respect, for the character of the Reformer of Nazareth, 
or for the simple truths He taught his humble followers while wandering 
o'er the plains of Judea. 

The thoughts expressed in the following Conversations are the honest 
offspring of patient observations of the laws of Nature, together with the 
intuitive convictions of my own mind; and, as such, I publish them, unso- 
licitous as to what effect they may have upon myself. I have almost reached 
the limit of earthly existence,— am too old to desire notoriety,— and there- 
fore can have no other object in giving them to mankind than for the pro- 
motion of what 1 believe to be the truth, and for the progressive advance- 
ment of humanity. As I have endeavored to live a blameless life, I shall 
leave the world without fear and without regret. 

These Conversations were written under peculiar circumstances, the 
history of which will be published at some future time. 

RuFUS C. Hopkins. 

San Francisco, April 22, 1894. 



4o8 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 



CONVERSATION I. 

STUDENT AND PYTHAGORAS. 

STUDENT. 

Come, ancient sage of Samos, and wisdom teach 
To one who with earnest toil for knowledge seeks! 

PYTHAGORAS. 

Who calls Pythagoras from celestial realms, 
Where, by the light of brighter spheres than earth, 
He still advances in the path he trod 
In search of truth beneath the Grecian skies ? 

STUDENT. 

A patient student in the search of truth. 
Who seeks to learn the history of this earth— 
From whence it sprang, with all that it inhabit. 

PYTHAGORAS. 

This rolling orb, which as an atom floats 

In the wide ocean of infinite space. 

Was born of Nature's self-engendering womb, 

In strict obedience to Eternal Law, 

Which is the soul of all material forms — 

From dewdrop trembling on the rose's breast, 

To ocean heaving to the silver moon! 

From far beyond where cold Uranus rolls 
And distant Neptune's still more wintry sphere. 
Once reached the limits of yon solar orb, 
Whose disk, now lessened to a burning spot, 
So brightly glows upon the azure vault. 
The fiery womb of that revolving orb 
From time to time gave birth to all the worlds 
That mark the days and years of solar time; 
From ancient Neptune, now with aeons hoary, 
To youngest planet on the solar skirts. 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 409 

And thus was born the earth that you inhabit; 

But not, like Venus, from the foamy sea 

In radiant beauty clothed, — a flaming orb. 

From out the burning solar womb it sprang, 

In lurid lightnings clothed, with thunders charged, 

And glowing with a fierce, intrinsic heat. 

^ons on Nature's dial were recorded. 

As measured by the years of solar time, 

Ere abating heat condensed the fiery vapor 

Into liquid form, and thus foundation laid 

For life organic, which should in time appear — 

But still internal fires in fury raged; 

Wild tempests swept the restless, boiling seas; 

Volcanic lightnings lit the brow of night; 

Reverberate thunders shook the trembling orb, 

While sulphurous clouds shut out the solar beams 

And rained incessant torrents on the thermal seas. 

Time grew hoary with the passing ages, 

But brought not quiet to the infant earth, 

Nor stilled the elemental war; for still 

The clouds were reddened by volcanic fires; 

The forked lightnings gleamed; muttering thunders 

Echoed through the cloudy vault, and earthquakes 

Rent the quivering orb! 

At length the circling ages brought repose; 

Vindictive storms no longer swept the earth; 

The lightning's flash no longer constant was, 

And lower burned the red volcanic fires. 

To rumblings low had sunk the thunder's voice; 

With rugged peak and silent arid plain 

The rent and scarred earth lay bare and ragged ; 

Hideous monsters swam the thermal seas, 

But no silvery lake within the valley slept. 

Nor dewdrop glittered in the beams of morn! 

Time grew weary with the count of aeons, 
Ere Nature's solvents and mechanic force 
Reduced to fertile soil the flinty rock ; 



4IO IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

Ere azure skies bent o'er the infant earth; 
Ere drooping willow hung o'er mossy stream; 
Ere plant was watered by the crystal shower, 
Or meadow green was wet with morning dew. 

From inorganic springs organic life — 
The ancient seas produced primeval life, 
Ere law-engendering from the earth produced 
The tree and plant, which of their kind gave birth 
To flower and fruit, which conscious Hfe sustains; 
And when, in time, these things appeared on earth, 
The rosy dawn was bright; the beast at noon 
Sought the refreshing shade; the golden cloud 
Hung softly o'er the setting sun; reptiles 
Crawled in reedy brakes, and birds sang sweetly 
In the morning air. 

Next in the scale of conscious being came 
The antetype of man; a thing prophetic 
Of a higher race to come; for, ever 
In the ascending scale, the lower form 
Foretells the coming higher; and this is so 
Through all the realms of being, and therefore then, 
In Wisdom's eyes, there 's nothing great nor small; 
All their appointed places strictly fill — 
The dark, ungainly root supports the flower; 
Foundation-stones sustain the lofty dome; 
And, but for organs that perform for man 
The lowest office, the light of Reason's lamp 
Could ne'er illume the palace of his soul. 

^ons of ages passed, and myriad races 
Of organic beings came and died on earth, 
Ere on the wrecks of lost and perished worlds 
Appeared primeval man, latest born of earth. 
And with a reasoning mind that made him lord 
Of all her elder offspring! 

Man, from the general law, is not exempt; 

As all creation is, he is progressive — 

Long had he dwelt on earth ere Reason's light 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 411 

Illumed his mind — he roamed earth's ancient woods; 
His dwelling was the rocky cave; his food 
The sylvan fruits uncultured by his hand, 
And flesh of bird and beast he could entrap; 
His naked limbs were chilled by wintry winds 
And scorched by the burning sun of summer. 

Taught by his needs, he learned to use his hands — 
With sapling bent, and branches wove, he made 
A shelter rude from summer's heat and winter's cold; 
By cunning taught, he learned to make the bow 
With which to slay for food the bird and beast. 

To him the sun was a benignant power 

That gave him light, and heat, and summer fruit; 

The lightning was a demon's fiery glance. 

And thunder was the speech of angry gods. 

The powers of Nature thus to him became 

Celestial beings, or infernal gods, 

To whom he bowed with superstitious awe; 

And thus began religious worship. 

By slow degrees, within his sluggish mind 
Was first perception of the useful waked — 
From rocky cave and cliff he learned design; 
With rugged stone he reared a dwelling rude; 
From flinty rock he wrought the arrow-head 
And point of spear as weapons of defence; 
He learned to sow and reap, and pleasure sought 
In social life; and thus began the nations. 

The light of Beauty dawned upon his soul — 
He watched the play of light on Nature's face. 
And his first lesson as an artist took! 

From stately palm and willow drooping low. 
His first perception came of graceful form; 
From arching branches in the forest aisles, 
And saplings bent to form his summer hut. 
Was born the stately dome of aftertimes. 

Advancing further in mechanic skill. 

He reared more graceful and enduring works — 



412 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

From forest oak, which as a strong man stands, 
Supporting columns sprang; 

Projecting beams 
In time were into graceful brackets carved; 
And thus commenced the Greek entablature. 

From curling vine, and flower, and leaf, were born 
Volute Ionic, and Corinthian order. 
The ancient shepherd, as he watched his flocks 
In lands now sunk beneath the rolling seas, 
With wonder saw the changing moon and stars, 
Whose late or early rise and setting marked 
The seasons, and by them he measured time. 
And to them ascribed mysterious power 
And influence o'er the lives and fate of man! 
And early thus commenced that science grand, 
Which led the searching mind of man to roam 
Through astronomic fields, and him has taught 
To measure circle and elliptic curve, 
Described by flaming meteor in its circle 
Of an hundred centuries! 

Long ere inventive man had learned to chain 
His fleeting thoughts by words on parchment writ, 
The rocky tomb was reared to mark the spot 
Where heroes, kings, and mighty warriors slept; 
And thus, before historic pen was used, 
The sculptor wrought upon the warrior's tomb 
The record of his bold and daring deeds, 
Hoping thus to make his name immortal. 

By slow degrees in the ascending scale, 

Man's ever-active mind became inventive — 

What, with his naked hands, he could not move, 

He found could be effected by the lever; 

And this to knowledge led of other powers 

And force mechanic, by the use of which 

He raised the ponderous stones which now are found 

In the colossal works of ancient times. 

In architecture ne'er was yet surpassed 
Ionic grandeur and Corinthian grace; 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 413 

From the insensate marble Phidias waked 
The sleeping Graces; and Apelles on 
The glowing canvas left a name immortal! 
Archimedes and Euclid old have left 
In geometric and mechanic lore 
Bold landmarks on the shores of Time! 

But not till later ages did Science bright, 
With analytic key, unlock the door 
Of Nature's inner temple, and with flaming torch 
Bid man explore its dark, mysterious caves — 

Before the beaming glance of her bright eye. 
Dark Superstition fled to deeper caves; 
And backward rolled the gloomy clouds of night, 
Which long had hung o'er man's progressive mind. 

With magic wand she touched the lightning's wing! 
It harmless played around her beaming brow, 
And to her will became a passive slave. 

In captive-chains she bound the wildest force, 
And in darkest realms the subtlest essence sought. 
And them her patient, drudging servants made. 

And thus the mighty gods of ancient times 
Became the slaves of man in later years ! 

The winged light she caught, and bade it tell 
The secrets of the distant home it left 
An hundred ages ere man appeared on earth — 
With microscopic glance she scanned the mote, 
And in it saw the wreck of ruined worlds; 
And with far-reaching sight she has explored 
The realms of space, measured the rolling orb. 
And told the number of its days and years! 
And thus man, from a rude and savage state, 
Has progress made in intellectual being. 

STUDENT. 

Thanks, reverend sage, for this instructive lesson; 
From thee, again, I '11 higher knowledge seek 
Of things I much desire to know. 

Santa Catalina Mountains, Arizona, 1882. 



414 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

CONVERSATION II. 

STUDENT AND PYTHAGORAS. 

STUDENT. 

From his bright dwelHng in the higher spheres, 
Will now the Samian sage impart to me 
Such further knowledge of the laws of life 
As may be understood by one of earth ? 

PYTHAGORAS. 

The sensual clouds that shroud the soul of man 
In his transient, rudimental life on earth, 
Are often pierced by rays of beaming light 
From the bright world of intellectual being; 
But, so distorted are the rays of light 
By the gross media through which they pass, 
That many pictures false created are, 
And many errors are by man committed. 
E'en in his honest, patient search for truth. 

Already hast thou seen how this green earth 

From Nature's all-engendering womb was born; 

That in its infant age no azure sky 

Hung o'er the silver lake and grassy plain; 

Nor browsing herd the meadow roamed; nor bird 

Sang sweetly in the leafy grove; nor flower 

Its fragrance breathed upon the summer air, — 

An orb it was, with rolling thunders charged. 

In forked lightnings clothed, and rent and scorched 

By heaving earthquakes and by fiery storms. 

Creative laws are but the laws of change, 
And they progressive are; the lower form 
Precedes, and ever, by unerring sign, 
Predicts the coming higher; and this is so 
In all organic life — from moss and lichen 
To highest form of plant; from lowest mollusk 
To highest type of upright human form. 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 415 

In the creative order, the mineral 
On earth was formed in Nature's lab'ratory 
Long ere organic Hfe was seen thereon ; 
And this, in time, appeared in form of plant 
And tree, and bird and beast, and last in man, 
The crowning product of this earthly sphere! 

Behold how Nature in progressive order 

Into being calls all sensuous life on earth: 

A creature first was formed, so low in type. 

And in organic structure simply rude, 

'YhdX plant it more than sensuous being seemed. 

This lower order step by step progressed. 

Until more perfect forms were reached, and these 

Of higher forms of being still foretold. 

The mollusk races dwelt in ancient seas 
Long ages ere the myriad finny tribes 
Swam the silver lake, or in sportive play 
Gambolled in oceans blue that mirrored back 
The bright azure of the vaulted heavens. 

Next in creative order, a creature came 
By Nature formed to swim the lake and sea 
As cleaves the bird the ambient air; and this 
Predictive was of bird with plumage bright 
And voice of dulcet note, which should in time 
Awake the earth with sylvan melody! 

But many intermediate steps are found 
Between the finny tribes of ocean blue 
And the gay songsters of the vernal grove — 

The fin of fish foretold the wing of bird. 
And foot was formed to tread the rolling deep 
Ere horny hoof was made to walk the earth, 
Or claw of beast, to rend the captive prey; 

And hideous monsters intermediate came 
Between the finny tribes and quadrumana; 
All these foretold a huge, amphibious race, 
That slept in dismal swamps and reedy brakes, 
And swam dark, stagnant pools in search of food. 



4i6 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

And these, by clear, suggestive signs, foretold 
The quadrumanous race, with graceful limb 
To tread the grassy earth, or climb the tree 
In search of food, or for protection seek; 
And with the quadrumana that tread the earth. 
Came the feathered songsters of the vernal grove, 
Which had by finny tribes predicted been. 

Next in the order came a higher form, 
With limb to stand erect, and hand to pluck 
The ripened fruit, and gather boughs to make 
A shelter from summer suns and wintry storms. 

And last in the progressive order, came 

The race of man! with graceful, upright form; 

With lofty, intellectual brow; with eye 

Of beaming light, and hand of cunning form, 

Long predicted' by anterior races. 

STUDENT. 

Does then Pythagoras teach that, from the lower 
Were evolved the higher forms in Nature ? 
That, by culture and improvement, the lower 
May in time become the higher ? 

PYTHAGORAS. 

Hadst thou a sight of all-embracing range. 
With microscopic glance to scan the least. 
And macroscopic power to comprehend 
The greatest in Nature's universe of matter. 
Then couldst thou see the harmonious order 
In which are placed material forms on earth; 
The perfect chain from things of lowest type 
To highest form of life organic; of which. 
Each link is found in its appointed place; 
The lowest bound to gross, material form, — 
The highest lost in vast infinitude, 
Far, far beyond the ken of finite sight! 
Each link, more bright becoming in the ascent 
Toward the realm of Love and Beauty. 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 417 

In this grand chain, each link is marked by being 
Which to its state belongs; and which, although 
It cannot reach a higher link, foretells 
Of higher links which to that chain belong. 

This all Nature teaches, where'er you look — 
Behold the human hand of cunning form! 
Long ere the race of man was seen on earth, 
That graceful, cunning hand had been foretold 
By foot of savage beast, with fingers four, 
And thumb of rudimental form. 

The moUusk race, by picture clearly wrought 
Within its soft and boneless form, foretells 
The coming vertebra of form complex. 

And thus is linked the lower to the higher 
Through all the organic realms of Nature, 
All forming one grand, harmonious whole — 
From dark foundation-stone to turret lost 
In regions of celestial beauty! 

And this is Nature's temple, whose lofty arches 
Ever echo to the sounding anthem 
Which in harmonious numbers upward rolls 
From Creation's countless forms of being — 
From cricket chirping on the cottage hearth. 
To hymn of praise by an archangel sung! 
From trembling chord of music's softest note, 
To the fierce howling of the angry storm! 
From atom floating on the evening breeze, 
To mightiest orb that lights the realms of space! 

All language used by man too feeble is 

To paint the pictures by the mind conceived; 

No written word, by poet ever penned. 

Nor vocal sound, by voice of sweetest note, 

Nor picture bright, in rainbow colors wrought 

By highest art, can give the form exact 

Of fleeting Thought; nor with precision clear, 

Explain the laws of intellectual being; 



4i8 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

Hence, in the interchange of human thought, 
Misunderstandings oft arise. 

Creation never is a special act ; 
But the result of ever-constant laws 
Which shape and govern all material forms, 
From the organic life of lowest grade 
To that of highest intellectual being. 

As has been shown, creation is progressive — 

In the mighty circle of existence. 

Each point by its conditions is controlled; 

And whene'er these conditions changed are, 

The form of being is compelled to change. 

And hence, creation is nought but change of form. 

When in progressive life this earth had reached 

A point where organic being was required, 

In prompt obedience to imperious law 

It straight appeared in lowest form of life; 

This form its period of existence had. 

While the conditions of its birth remained — 

When these had ceased, that form of being passed away 

And left no record save in mountain rock. 

O'er which once rolled the ancient seas of earth. 

And thus have come and gone the countless races 

Which, in obedience to creative law, 

Have formed the chain of being on your earth — 

From lowest link to intellectual man; 

Remains of which are found on mountain top, 

In ocean depths, on burning arid plain, 

'Mid Arctic snows, in shady tropic groves, 

And in the fruitful vale and meadow green 

They form the soil from which the harvest springs! 

STUDENT. 

But tell me, ancient sage, why do we find 

That many early races still exist 

In common with earth's present habitants ? 



ii 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 419 

PYTHAGORAS. 

Conditions of their birth existing still 

In common with others of a higher order, 

These primal beings still are found on earth 

Side by side with beings of a higher form. 

Ere man had lived, the ape was found on earth, 

And still upon it dwells with lordly man; 

Conditions of his life existing still — 

When these have ceased, he too will disappear, 

Like other races that have dwelt on earth 

And left no record save in silent rock. 

This is the order of Creative Law, 

By which all forms of matter are controlled. 

And all organic being called to life; 

Each atom taking its appointed place, 

And every sensuous being its allotted part 

In the great Drama of the Universe, 

STUDENT. 

As the radiant beams of rising morn 
Dispel the curtaining clouds of gloomy night, 
So have the teachings of the Samian sage 
Illumed a mind in earnest search of truth; 
But more I seek to know; still deeper yet 
Would I sound the mysteries of creation; 
The laws of generation I would learn, 
And how they work to bring to life and being 
The vv'ondrous panorama of existence! 
This, I with deep and earnest reverence seek, 
To satisfy an ever-craving thirst. 

PYTHAGORAS. 

The mind of man for knowledge ever seeks 

Because it is a birthright, by it received 

From that bright source from whence its being sprang; 

Therefore, as the vapor sunward rises, 

The human mind perforce for knowledge seeks, 

And to it there is no forbidden ground — 

Where'er its wings have strength to bear its flight. 

It has a right to soar in search of truth. 



420 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

No being in the universe can write 
The whole history of its own existence — 
The dewdrop cannot tell how it was formed; 
The flower explain the law that gave it birth; 
The Finite give the history of its being, 
Nor the Infinite tell from whence it sprang! 

The laws of Nature act in dual force 

In the creation of material forms; 

And this is so through all the realms of Nature — 

From mineral, sleeping in the deepest mine. 

To life organic of the highest form. 

These dual forces, in all creations 
The actors are; they meet to form the plant. 
To shape the dewdrop, and the mightiest orb 
That lights the solemn, soundless depths of space! 
They gild the morning cloud, and give the rose 
Its blushing hue! they guide the winged light, 
Direct the storm, and to the evening breeze 
Give its low-whispering voice! Creators are 
Of every living form — from smallest gnat, 
Whose life is measured by a summer's day, 
To godlike man, upon whose lofty brow 
Immortal Reason grandly sits enthroned! 
No lone creator of material forms 
Is ever found in Nature's realm of being — 
Where'er creation is, companionship 
Is ever found. 

Hadst thou a spirit's vision, unobscured 

By the gross medium of thine earthly form, 

Then the action of these dual forces 

Thou couldst see in the birth and growth of plants. 

The highest product of the plant is fruit; 
When it has yielded this, with seed (the germ 
Of a new and like existence), it dies — 
And to the bosom of the earth returns 
To mingle with its primal elements. 
And thus completes the circle of its life. 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 421 

The higher we ascend the scale of being, 
The more complex becomes organic structure, 
And wider is the circle of existence. 

As these forces the humble plant produce, — 

By dual action they into being bring 

The countless forms of lower sensuous life. 

Ascending higher in the scale of being. 

We reach the intellectual, moral realm, 

Where still this dual action we behold 

In Creation's loftiest work on earth, — 

Construction of a transient home for man! 

He who, of all the sons of earth, alone 

Has power, in thought, to reach the realm of Cause, 

And ever keep the chain of tnemory bright. 

STUDENT. 

Are the creations, then, of earthly forms, 
Of all that we behold — of plant and flower, 
Of bird and beast, and last, of lordly man, — 
Nought but result of ever-constant laws 
Which act in dual forms in their creation ? 

PYTHAGORAS. 

In all creations e'er beheld on earth. 
From that of lowest form material to that 
Of highest type of living, sensuous being. 
These dual forces are the constant means 
By which all forms material are created. 

Behold the action of these dual laws 
In the ever-changing forms of matter: 

Two colors blend, and lo! a third is born; 
Two chemic elements together wed, — 
Each one, when by itself, all harmless is, 
But their offspring is a deadly poison. 

A passive flower, in female beauty blooms, — 
In prompt obedience to creative law, 
A wooing breeze, upon its gentle wings, 



422 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

Bears to the attracting, passive flower 
Tile principle prolific, — and behold! 
The fruit is born. 

Two little songsters of the grove, impelled 
By Nature's all-imperious laws, construct 
A cunning cradle for the new creations 
Which they with love and patience long await! 

With new and strange delight the bosom thrills, 
When, with harmonious touch, the dual chords 
Are waked by Nature's whispering voice of love, 
And leaps the heart with joy at the first sound 
That in the bosom wakes a mother's love! 

And this is Nature's marriage, and these the laws 
Creative that rule the boundless realms of being. 

In all the realms below organic life, 
These laws but as recipric forces act; 
Attracting and repelling, until all 
In harmonious order is arranged. 

The higher we ascend the scale of being, 
The more distinctly marked these forces are: 

The flower its bosom turns towards the light. 
And yearning waits the coming of its mate. 
But weeps not when the bridegroom cometh not; 

The ewe, bereaved, bewails her lambkin lost. 

And for a time will not be comforted, — 

But, soon forgetful, — consolation finds. 

And, with deep affection, the parent bird 

Her unfledged offspring guards, and mourns for them 

When rudely torn from her. 

But not until 
Is reached the realm of intellectual being, 
Do we meet the spirit bright of Love Divine 
In all its pure and radiant beauty; 
Which, in harmonious order, all things keeps — 
From highest realms of light — to Nature's caves 
Of deepest darkness. 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 423 

Behold with reverence these mysterious laws 
Which rule the realms of universal being; 
Which, in the lowest, are but forces blind 
That by attraction and repulsion act; 
Not manifesting aught of moral sense, 
But which, in the higher realms of being, 
Become bright spirits of Creative Love! 

Whene'er these duals in sweet concord meet, 
Creation's temple beams with rosy light, 
And Nature's face is wreathed in smiles of love! 
But when harsh discord breaks these dual chords, 
Dark shadows then becloud her beauteous face 
As she beholds her altars thus defiled. 

STUDENT. 

Thanks, sage of Samos! now have I something learned 

Of the operation of creative laws; 

Again from thee I '11 further knowledge seek. 

Tucson, Arizona, 1883. 



424 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

CONVERSATION III. 

STUDENT AND PYTHAGORAS. 
STUDENT. 

Now tell me, ancient sage, when wrapped in sleep, 

Whence come the forms so weird, as seen in dreams, 

That gather round the midnight couch of man ? 

Are they disjointed fragments of the past, 

Or glimpses of another land than earth, 

Which the ever-wakeful mind may sometimes catch 

While wrapped in sleep the unconscious body lies ? 

PYTHAGORAS. 

Of Death sweet Sleep the gentle sister is — 
All life organic has its times of rest; 
At set of sun, the flow' ret folds its leaves 
And seeks in dewy sleep refreshing rest; 
The bird finds shelter in its leafy home, 
And weary man in slumber seeks repose. 

Whene'er the senses are in slumber locked. 

The body, in a certain sense, is dead — 

For though it breathe, and though life's currents flow, 

'T is all unconscious of surrounding things — 

It no conception has of time nor place. 

Nor judgment such, as in waking hours is used; 

Hence the sleeper may, without surprise, hold 

Converse with those who long since left the earth. 

Nor think it strange that bird and beast may speak! 

But, while in sleep, the organs through which the mind 

Perception has of all material things 

Lie dormant and unconscious, the mind itself, 

(That ever-active Ego which never sleeps), 

May visit other realms than those of earth. 

And sights may see ne'er viewed by mortal eye. 

And voices hear far sweeter to the ear 

Than e'er upon it fell in waking hours. 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 425 

In sleep the mind to the body still is bound — 
Hence, dreams are often strangely wild and weird; 
Sometimes are pictures bright of beauteous things; 
Sometimes of monstrous forms and ghastly shapes, 
And sometimes memories of our waking lives, 
Which in wild fragments to the mind return. 

As gentle sleep refreshment brings to man 
When ended is the weary day of toil, 
So Death, the kind Angel of Transition, 
When ended is the stormy day of life. 
With gentle hand the weary lays to rest; 
With magic touch he breaks the cord that'binds 
The spirit in its prison house of clay. 
And freedom gives the bird of Paradise! 

As, at the birth of mortal life on earth. 
The new-born infant is by gentle hands 
Received, and nurtured with the tenderest care, — 
So, when the spirit from the earth departs 
And enters on a higher state of being, — 
'Tis there received by hands of gentlest touch. 
And soothed by words as soft as e'er were breathed 
By earthly mother o'er her new-born babe. 

Then think not that the closing hour of life 
Is dark and lonely to the passing one; 
For, through the longest life of man on earth, 
Ne'er fell upon his sight a scene so grand 
As that which he beholds when first is raised 
The curtain dark that veils from mortal sight 
The glorious beauties of the Land of Love! 

STUDENT. 

Then, 'tis not true that man created was 
As innocent and pure as angels are ? 
And that, from such estate, he fell by sin. 
And thus incurred the penalty of death ? 

PYTHAGORAS. 

The simple innocence of primal man 

Was like that which the prowling tiger knows 



426 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

While it devours the lamb it slayed for food; 
And Death, as the Angel of Transition, 
Preforms for man in life's dissolving scene 
The last kind office that he needs on earth. 

STUDENT. 

Do dwellers of the higher spheres themselves 
Surround with things of beauty, such as plants, 
And flowers, and shady groves, and meadows green? 
Does marble palace stand by silver lake, 
And vine-clad cottage by the winding stream ? 

PYTHAGORAS. 

No form whatever can preceiv^d be. 

Save through the aid of matter; nor can the mind 

Conceive of aught that feeling wakes of love. 

Or hate, or hope, or dark despair, unless 

To such thought material form be given. 

Man's works, to some extent, reflect his thoughts; 
And this is true — where'er he may exist — 
On earth, or in the higher realms of being! 

The savage builds a hut of rudest form. 

Which he adorns with trophies of the chase 

And gory scalps of foes in battle slain; 

Of Parian marble Ambition rears a palace; 

While the Poet the vine-clad cottage loves. 

Where summer breezes breathe the breath of flowers, 

And songs of birds are mingled with the voice 

Of murmuring silver streams. 

And, as on earth, — 
So in the life of higher realms, — each one 
Himself surrounds by things his mind creates: 
The Poet lives amid the things he loves. 
And fragrant flowers of rarest beauty bloom 
Around the pictured home where dwells the artist, 
While birds of sweetest note awake the morn 
With sylvan music, and lull the day to rest 
With songs of love. 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 427 

But while the/«r^ and bright will make their homes 
In marble hall, in vine-clad cottage low, 
Within the shade of ever-vernal groves, 
In sunny woodland vale or meadow green, 
Where flowers of beauty ever freshly bloom 
And birds of rarest plumage ever sing,— 
The soul depraved, which, while it dwelt on earth, 
Ne'er saw the light which beams from higher realms. 

But always wallowed in the sensual pool, 
Nor pleasure found, save in degrading lusts,— 

Will dwell 'mid shadows dark of uncouth things, 

The offspring of its sensual life on earth. 

And there remain, until the Light Divine 

(Which, though obscured, is not extinguished quite). 

Lead it to seek a higher realm of being! 

STUDENT. 

In the ethereal realms which you describe, 
You speak of flowery fields, and vernal groves; 
Of meadows green, and winding, silver streams; 
Of dwellings bright, and all such lovely things 
As ornament the beauteous homes of earth— 
What will there be the soul's companionship ? 
Do sexes there exist as here on earth ? 
And that mysterious law which has ordained 
That no companionship can perfect be 
Save where harmonious love the sexes join ? 

PYTHAGORAS. 

No moral being can all lonely dwell 
And happy be, is Nature's stern decree! 

From forces acting in harmonious order 
Are ever born the curving forms of grace; 
From two balanced forces springs the circle, 
Symbolic of love and beauty. 

Look where you will,— o'er Nature's wide domain,— 
You see in plant and tree, in flower and leaf, 
This constant symbol of harmonious love. 



428 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

No happiness is found where love is not; 
Love never dwells save with sweet harmony; 
And this but in companionship is found! 

As well expect to meet the tropic flower 
Upon the Arctic iceberg, as hope to find 
True happiness without companionship; 
Or seek for beauty in a line direct, 
As look for it in lonely, abstract thought. 

The same dual and harmonious laws 

That mark on earth the sexual forms of life, 

Continue still in higher realms of being; 

But love, with those who 've reached the higher life, 

Compared with that which thrills the soul of man 

Amid the sensual scenes of earthly life, — 

Is as the rosy light that wakes the morn 

To the lurid glare of fierce, volcanic flame, 

Which from combustion springs of vilest things. 

STUDENT. 

Whence comes the soul of man, that viewless essence 

From which bright Thought is born and Reason springs ? 

Does its being with the body's life commence, 

Or does it spring from some Infinite Source ? 

Is its existence here upon the earth 

But one stage in an infinite journey 

Towards the Eternal Source from whence it sprang ? 

PYTHAGORAS. 

spirit, like Truth — eternal is — because 
It is Divine! it ne'er was born, and hence 
Can never die; nor can it tarnished be, 
Although its light be for a time obscured 
By the coarse garb in which it may be clothed. 

All forms of matter evanescent are. 
And change is writ on all that man beholds; 
But spirit, — though in its action it is dual, — 
In essence unchanging and eternal is. 



I 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 429 

Were all material forms at once resolved 

Back to their elements invisible, 

The laws that regulate the square and cube, 

And that control elliptic curve and circle, 

Would still remain unchanged; although no power 

Could demonstrate these laws to mortal sight. 

Nor can spirit ever manifested be. 

Save through the myriad forms which are beheld 

On Nature's face of everlasting change: 

In mountain rock, in tree and plant, in flower. 

In meadow green and forest hoar, in storm. 

In sunshine and in shower, in rosy morn 

And dewy eve, and in the shades of night; 

And highest in the human face divine ! 

Pure spirit, until in matter it is clothed. 
Like law, makes manifest no moral sense; 
'Tis stern as is a line direct, and cold 
As is the ice of Neptune's wintry sphere; 
But, when in a material garb 't is clothed. 
And it has reached the scale of sensuous life, — 
A being it becomes of moral sense. 
Endowed with all the passions of the soul: 
Love, Hope, Desire, and lofty Aspiration! 

When in man the spirit incarnated is. 
The being then is said to be immortal, — 
Since, before it lies a conscious future. 
Too vast for comprehension of the mind; 
For, 't is manifest, a future it may have 
So long as exist the moral passions: 
Love and Hope, Desire and Aspiration! 
When Hope no longer of the future sings. 
The soul must on the Infinite Bosom rest. 

Man's body, like the plant, is born of earth, 
And, like \he plant, it to the earth returns, — 
Dropped like a worn-out garment by the way; 
While the soul goes on its conscious journey 
Towards the source from whence it sprang! 



430 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

STUDENT. 

A question bold I now would ask of thee: 
What is, and where dwells the Infinite Cause ? 

PYTHAGORAS. 

The Universal Father, however called 

By man— Jehovah, Brahma, Jove, or God — 

Is the spirit pure, of all that being has; 

Eternal Source of that unchanging Law 

Which with precision rules the Universe; 

The Infinite Fountain, from which issues 

All life and motion in material things. 

And all the thought that marks the conscious being; 

But, what the essence of this being is, 

The loftiest individual Mind that dwells 

In highest realms of Thought, no more can tell 

Than of the cause that gave the rose its life. 

Infinite, too, its everlasting dwelling is! 
With it, there is nor time, nor place, nor past. 
Nor future; nought but the Eternal Now / 
In essence 't is as formless and as cold 
As is the spirit of Eternal Law, 
But through material forms in sensuous life 
It manifests the moral attributes. 

It gives the dawn its roseate hue, and paints 

The sunset clouds; it shapes the lily's form. 

And gives the blooming rose its fragrant breath; 

It starts the tear in Pity's eye, and wakes 

The heaving sigh in Mercy's gentle breast; 

'Tis seen upon the infant's smiling face 

And in the sweet blush of love that mantles 

On the maiden's blooming cheek; its voice is heard 

Upon the trembling lute; in mountain storm. 

In sighing evening breeze, and song of bird; 

And sweetest, when in melting tones are sung 

The gentle songs of love — for God is Love — 

And Love is the Infinite Soul that thrills 

The moral Universe, from darkest caves 

To highest realms of intellectual light! 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 431 

AH being forever in eternal rounds 
Itself repeats in everlasting circles: 

The plant returns to dust, from whence it sprang, 

But to become a tree or plant again! 

The cloud of vapory form ascends from earth, 

And to the earth returns in fruitful showers! 

The rolling orb upon its axis turns! 

The planet, — in its circling orbit moves, — 

And revolving systems periods mark 

That tell the cycles of eternity! 

Man's mortal body from the earth was born, 

And to its fruitful womb again returns; 

His spirit springs from the Eternal Source, 

Becomes a moral being when incarnated, — 

Endowed with all the passions of the soul, — 

And with Immortal Reason for its guide 

Begins the mighty journey; along which. 

In £eons gone, it may have passed before! 

(Since \\i^ prese7it\'s, but what before has been); 

For brightest individual Mind that dwells 

In regions of sublimest Thought was once 

A mortal dweller on some lowly earth; 

And so, the humblest mortal son of earth. 

Led by the Light Divine that beams within. 

May reach the point where dwells the loftiest Mind! 

STUDENT. 

Your teachings, ancient sage, 
To me are clear as Reason's purest light, 
And pleasant as the notes of melody; 
Since the laws of Nature, as by you explained, 
Are based on Justice and on Love Divine, 
And no spirit of vindictive anger show. 

PYTHAGORAS. 

The doctrine of vindictive punishment 
Was born of Darkness, by Ignorance nursed, 
And ever is by Superstition cherished. 
The wise and loving father never can 



432 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

With vindictive hand his children punish; 
E'en Justice, the sternest attribute divine, 
Ne'er speaks to erring ones in voice vindictive. 
And though it punishment inflict, 't is ever 
In sweet Mercy's sight, and never can be more 
Than she is forced to say is just and right. 
Infinite Wisdom, through Love and Justice, 
. Rules the realms of moral being, and each one 
Takes the place he has for himself prepared. 

STUDENT. 

This lesson of Companionship and Love 
Falls on my ear like note of waking harp. 
Which sweetest music makes, unheard before; 
And me impels to seek thee yet again. 

Tucson, Arizona, 1884. 



I 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 433 

CONVERSATION IV. 
STUDENT, PYTHAGORAS, AND ANCIENT ONE. 

STUDENT. 

Tell me, sage of Samos, if this thou canst: 

When shall I find surcease from this unrest; 

This everlasting yearning of the soul 

For that which lies beyond its highest reach ? — 

Will e'er the spirit find a restful sleep 

In some far future land of rosy dreams ? 

PYTHAGORAS. 

Inquiring mortal! an Ancient One is here; 

One who had long an " Ancient been of Days," 

Or ere Pythagoras saw the light of earth! 

One who had watched the birth and death of worlds; 

Had seen them born as bloom the flowers of spring, 

And perish as fades the withered autumn leaf; 

Yet from sublimest realms descends to earth 

To breathe the fragrance of the dewy spring; 

To list the skylark sing its morning song, 

And teach thee wisdom! 

He now will answer thee. 

ANCIENT ONE. 

Wouldst thou learn wisdom, son of earth ? Then list 
To Nature's voice! And happy wouldst thou be, 
And find that peace for which thy soul now yearns ? 
In concord live with her unchanging laws! 

Despise not the small*, nor aught consider mean; 
For wreck of ruined world imports no more 
Than withered leaf upon the autumn wind; 
And budding flower a marvel is as great 
As is the birth of mightiest rolling orb! 

Seek not to unveil the hidden source of Life, 
Nor search the dwelling-place of Thought Divine; 



434 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

But be content with what thou now mayst learn^ 
And with patience wait the higher knowledge. 
The slumbering chrysaHs can nothing know 
Of what awaits the gay-winged butterfly 
Amid the blooming flowers of sunny spring; 
Nor can the voiceless fish e'er learn the song 
That's carolled by the warbling bird. 

As from the Samian sage already learned, 
All forms their circles of existence have, — 
From lowest life to highest type of being; 
And fleeting are as sounding notes that tell 
The Poet's thoughts, or colors bright that paint 
The glowing pictures by the Artist wrought! 

The snowflake melts beneath the morning sun; 
The violet fades before the autumn's breath; 
The forest oak decays, and dies of age; 
The flinty rock becomes the summer dust, 
And rolling orb and flaming star in time 
Will pass as do the drops of morning dew. 
And into other forms of being change! 
But ir/mV— which to matter gives its form— 
As law^ unchanging and eternal is. 

Behold the myriad forms assumed by being 
In its ascent from lowest caves of darkness 
To realms of light and beauty! expressing each 
That form of life to which its sphere belongs; 
Each atom filling its appointed place. 
And all in harmonious order moving 
In strict obedience to Eternal Law; 
Receiving life, and thought, and moral sense 
All from the same Infinite Source unknown; 
Though differing in degree, the same in ki7id. 

The same Infinite Overruling Power 

That guides the atom on the wandering breeze,. 

Directs the storm and rules the rolling orb! 

The same Infinite Wisdom's law that bids 
The sparrow build its nest and rear its young, 
Inspires the loftiest intellectual being! 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 435 

Seek not to grasp this Power, nor learn its source, 
Although it speaks through all material forms: 
From blooming flower to mightiest flaming orb, 
From humblest insect up to loftiest Being, — 
'Twill still thy fruitless search elude, until 
'Tis in the bosom of the Infinite lost. 

As in a ray of purest crystal light 

All colors sleep, — so the Infinite Bosom 

All things contains, and there all things are one! — 

World interblends with world, and spiral curve 
And inter-weaving circles mark the journey 
Of progressive being in its slow ascent 
From the lowest realms of life — up towards 
The Oneness of the all-embracing Infinite — 
The Eternal Father and Everlasting Mother! 

All things have spirit-life that gives them form; 
It gives the crystal shape, it shades the marble, 
It paints the flower, it moulds the dewdrop, 
It forms the rolling orb and flaming star 
And paints the rose upon the maiden's cheek! 

Mark the ascent from dark, material caves 
To realms of highest intellectual being: 
First, nought is seen but blind, imperious law, 
As shown by curling vine and icy crystal; 
Ascending higher, is found the moral sense 
In love of lower orders for their offspring; 
And glimpses faint of Reason's beaming light 
In cunning work of insect, beast, and bird; 
But nought of abstract reasoning power 
Which wakes the moral sense of right and wrong. 

Last in the scale, behold Immortal Reason ! 
And that high moral sense, as found in man; 
Those attributes divine, that make him heir 
To immortality, and lord sublime 
Of intellectual realms! 

With Moral Sense, 
And Reason for his guides, and Memory bright 



436 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

For his recording angel, he for himself 
His glorious world of being then creates! 
Then, before him lies the mighty journey 
Which leads towards the Unknown Infinite; 
And behind, the lower realms already passed 
And now forgot, but to be again recalled 
When in the circle vast a point is reached 
Where the Xovi'gpast and future meet as one ! 

Recording Memory lays not her tablets by, 
While Desire to an unknown future points! 
When Hope no longer looks with longing eyes. 
Then Memory shuts her book, lays down her pen, 
And, for a season, seeks repose in sleep; 
But to awake! and begin her task again. 
And write the record of another day. 
Which makes one cycle of life immortal. 

This is thy mighty future, son of earth; 
And this the journey that before thee Hes! 

Tremble not, nor dread the loss of Thought Divine, 
Nor the blotting out of Memory's record, — 
For this vast journey is but one passing day 
Of being; which, as the Infinite, is eternal. 

But all organic being must sometimes rest. 
And in refreshing slumber seek repose: 
A night of rest succeeds a day of toil; 
The summer leaf and flower in autumn fade. 
To be renewed again in vernal spring; 
And smiling Hope ever of to-morrow sings! 

This is the destiny of soul, and this 

The mighty journey that before it lies; 

The end of which is vast infinitude. 

Where nought but pure, unchanging spirit dwells; 

The Infinite Source from which all being springs, 

And to which all things in the end return. 

As vapory clouds which from the ocean rise, 

In drops of rain return to it again. 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 437 

But this is not eternal sleep or death 
To individual mind, more than is sleep 
The death of all preceding life on earth. 

Moral being a future has until it reach 

The point sublime where all at last is seen — 

The past and future — which is but the past. 

On the Infinite Bosom then it sleeps 

In sweet repose, forgetful of the past. 

Until awaked again in embryo form 

In some earthly nursery of Immortal Being 

To run the cycle of another day. 

This is the destiny of soul immortal, 

And this the moral being of Infijiite Spirit f 

Earth's lower forms by nature are supplied 
With all they need their wants to satisfy; 
Nor do their simple natures long for more — 
Their harmless, happy lives as shadows pass, — 
They live harmonious with Nature's laws. 
With no far-reaching wish unsatisfied, 
And die at last with nought of hope or fear. 
But even they in some far-distant future 
May the memory of their simple lives recall; 
Since faintest spark that shines through lowest form 
Will ne'er be in eternal darkness quenched! 

Man, as an earthly being, is compound, 
Embracing all below him in the scale — 
His lower being is common with the brute. 

Next in the scale is found the moral sense, 
The realm of Passion: Hope, Desire, and Love, 
And all the passions deep that ornament 
Or may degrade the life of man on earth. 

This is the fruitful garden of the soul, 

Where flowers may bloom, or noxious weeds may grow. 

'Bove these, in state, bright Reason sits enthroned! 
Lord Supreme, and Ruler of the realm of Mind, 
Whose office is to guide the lower passions. 



438 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

When in this triune being sweet Concord reigns, 
Then roses bloom and songs of love are heard; 
But when harsh Discord reigns, then is evil seen, — 
And the light which to Divinity belongs, 
By baleful clouds is darkened and obscured. 

Where Harmony exists, there heaven is found; 
But where harsh Discord reigns, there must be hell. 

Nourish then with temperance the material form. 
Nor seek to crush all passion from the soul; 
For these are needful to a perfect life — 
But ever list to Reason's searching voice, 
And let her counsels be thy constant guide. 

What does the voice of Reason teach, and what 
The language writ in Nature's glorious book ? 

That he who breaks a law by Nature writ, 
Must pay the penal debt that law ordains. 

From this there's no escape by aught that lives. 
In lowest caves or highest realms of being! 

Then, son of Earth! if thou wouldst wisdom find. 
List to Reason's voice, and with patience read 
Great Nature's book, and in obedience live 
To her unerring and unchanging laws. 

Not till being has reached the moral plane. 
Does Reason rule the organic structure. 

In the lower realms all things are subject 
To imperious law, which ever bids like 
To seek its kindred like, and war proclaims 
And strife between discordant elements — 
But such warring strife is not destructive. 
But concord brings in higher realms of being! 

Rolling thunders shake the abysmal depths, 
And fiery tempests sweep the realms of chaos; 
But lightning's flash and rolling thunder's voice 
Are but Nature's struggles for harmonious order. 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 439 

No being lower in the scale than man 

Can Nature's laws direct; the bird, and beast, 

And finny tribes to them subjective are; 

Nor does the herb, or plant, or tree take thought 

Of how it shall be fed or clothed. 

But when upon the brow bright Reason sits, 
Man becomes creative, and director is 
Of Nature's laws — 

He holds the forked lightning 
In his grasp; at the howling storm he laughs; 
Adds sweetness to the sylvan fruits of earth; 
Gives beauty to the blooming rose, and makes 
The wilderness a paradise of love! 
He makes the savage beast a docile friend; 
He scans the distant star; catches the winged light; 
Draws bright pictures from the realms of Beauty, 
And on the bright historic page he leaves 
A name immortal ! 

And thus. Reason makes man godlike in knowledge, 
With power to act, as may his will direct — 
To stern Justice, for his acts accounting. 

Clear is Reason's light, but cold as moonbeams 

On the polar ice; no flowers of beauty 

E'er bloom beneath her piercing rays, her voice 

Ne'er starts the tear in Pity's eye; nor does 

Her cold hand e'er soothe the breast of Sorrow — 

This, the office of sweet Religion is, 

The gentlest spirit of ethereal realms — 

Born of the bosom of Eternal Love! 

Her voice is soft, and soothing is her touch, — 

Whether in garments of superstition clothed. 

In classic robes, or in the mystic garb 

Of dreamy Indian priest; whether speaking 

Through the untutored savage, sage, or prophet old, 

Or through the meek and gentle Nazarene! 

Her voice is still the same howe'er she's clothed. 



440 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

'T is she who points to brighter worlds than this! 
'T is her bright glance that cheers the darkest gloom, 
And her sweet voice that sings the songs of Hope! 
Her empire is the realm of moral being — 
The blooming garden of the human soul ! 
When Reason bright and sweet Religion there 
With mingling light illume the mind of man, 
Then is fair Conscience born, to be a guide 
To man along the misty vales of earth. 

Harmonious with himself, with Nature's laws, 
And with the universe, — he 's then, indeed, 
A lofty being, and fitted is to dwell 
With beings of a higher realm than earth! 

Thou now hast learned from whence bright Wisdom 

springs; 
Wouldst thou be happy in thy life on earth, 
And fitted be for higher realms of being ? 
Seek then the light that beams from Reason's brow, 
And list Religion's gentle voice of love! 
Heed the voice of Conscience, by these begot. 
And let her counsels be thy moral guide! 

From Reason shalt thou learn imperious law, 
Which rules all moral and material realms — 
She '11 teach thee to obey those laws divine, 
As well in small, as in the greatest things; 
As well in matters touching earthly life, 
As things that reach a higher state of being. 

She '11 teach thee care of thy material form, 
By careful ministry to its needful wants. 
That it may be a dwelling for thy soul 
Until the stormy life of earth has passed. 

From her bright teachings shalt thou also learn 
That sensual pleasures no sweet memories leave, — 
That they 're forgot, or leave a sting behind, — 
While moral pictures brighter grow with time; 
That oft the tears of grief by sorrow shed. 
Are jewels bright in Memory's casket. 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 441 

The thirst of yesterday is now forgot, 

While the songs a mother sang in childhood 

Are echoed still, though age has dimmed the sight — 

One is a thing but of material birth. 

Which, passing, leaves no lasting scar behind; 

The other is a flower of moral growth. 

Whose bloom defies the chilling frost of age! 

Store then thy mind with things that perish not. 
But which will stand the test of all transitions. 
What these shall be, let bright Reason teach thee, 
And the instinctive language of thy soul — 
All thoughts and things that to bright Truth pertain, 
All that which in the breast pure love inspires 
And leads toward the Good and Beautiful, 
Will be the current coin of higher realms. 

A gentle word may make a lasting record, — 
While proudest palace crumbles into dust! 
What 's of the earthy still on the earth remains, 
As leaves the butterfly its shell behind 
When, rising on its painted, flowery wing 
It sports o'er summer field and meadow green! 

The faintest reasoning from effect to cause — 
The love that in the humblest bosom dwells, — 
And tiniest things of beauty, are all the same, 
Whether found in the misty vales of earth, 
Or in the most supernal realms of being. 

The love the sparrow feels is not unlike 
That which the bosom of an angel thrills; 
And Beauty sleeps as sweetly on the rose's breast 
As 'mid the blooming flowers of Paradise! 

Then, son of earth! if thou wouldst not bankrupt be 

When passed are the feverish dreams of earth. 

Pledge not thy soul to low and beastly passion. 

Nor a servant be to wild Ambition! 

But cultivate the love of Truth and Beauty, 

And harmonize thy being here on earth 

With what awaits thee in a higher state. 



442 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

Far banish from thy soul all selfish pride, 
Nor scorn the teachings of the humblest things; 
For from the insect thou mayst wisdom learn, 
And bird and beast may teach thee gentle love! 

Nurse not the thoughts which from dark passions 

spring, 
And which defile the sweet face of Beauty 
And being give to hideous forms of Vice, 
(Which are the offspring of diseased passion), — 
But ever let thy mind in concord be 
With Nature's sweet, harmonious laws of Love. 

When man shall in harmonious concord live 
With Nature's laws, with Reason for his guide 
And sweet Religion's love within his soul, 
Then shall all evil disappear from earth,— 
As foulest phantoms born of midnight dreams 
Are scattered by the rosy beams of morn! 

Then shall the golden age of man on earth 
Be more than poet's dream, or prophet's vision, — 
And where the poisonous weeds of vice now grow, 
Sweet flowers will bloom — and where dark prisons 

frown, 
The smiling field and cottage will be seen! 

Then, son of earth! if thou wouldst wisdom learn. 
And happy be on earth, and find a place 
Among bright ones in higher realms than this. 
Heed well these counsels of the Ancient One. 

San Francisco, 1888. 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 443 

CONVERSATION V. 

STUDENT AND ANCIENT ONE. 
STUDENT. 

Mysterious spirit of the Ancient One, 
If witliin the range of thy far-reaching mind, 
Explain to me this marvellous work which I 
Have with patient, earnest toil so long pursued ? 

Have I been but by wayward fancy led. 
Or of some juggling fiend the sport have been. 
Who, by some magic power, has me impelled 
Through weary years this labor to pursue. 
But to gratify a soul malignant ? 

Or, for purpose wise, has some spirit good 
Me impelled to follow this mysterious work 
As explanation of creative laws ? 

This I seek to learn from thy bright wisdom. 

ANCIENT ONE. 

Patient toiler in pursuit of knowledge! 

He who with earnest purpose seeks the truth 

Can ne'er be made the sport of mocking spirit, 

Nor e'er be lost amid the clouds of darkness; 

For though he wander long in doubt and gloom. 

He, in the end, will meet a just reward 

For his long-suffering and enduring toil. 

Glance down the shadowy vista of the past. 
E'en to the sunny days of childhood young. 
And tell me what thou find'st recorded there ? 

STUDENT. 

I read the record of the lonely life 
Of one who in childhood a dreamer was; 
Who peopled shady dells with fairy forms 
And saw them dance beneath the silver moon; 



444 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

Who heard soft whisperings in the evening breeze, 
And wailing voices in the autumn winds; 
Who loved not the rude voice of boisterous mirth, 
And shrank from the ribald speech of noisy crowds, 
But converse held with plant, and tree, and flower. 
And ever found companionship with Nature! 

ANCIENT ONE. 

Find then in this the key-note of thy being, 
And learn how echoes from the higher realms 
Are sometimes caught by those who dwell on earth. 
Why sages old have told of things unseen! 
Why Homer sang his epic songs, and Virgil 
In bucolic verse a classic record left! — 
Who bade the bard of Avon tune his lyre; 
The Doric reed to Scotia's minstrel gave, 
And tuned the harp for Erin's son of song! — 
Who taught the sculptor's hand its art divine. 
And gave to Raphael's brush its magic touch! — 
And learn from this why thou in childhood's morn 
Shrank from rude companionship and ever sought 
The shady woods, made vocal by the songs of birds; 
And loved the flowers of spring, the autumn leaf, 
The sighing breeze and howling wintry storm; 
And in manhood a romantic dreamer was 
Of some unknown land of Love and Beauty; 
And now, when hoary age has dimmed thy sight. 
Still by day, and in the silent hours of night. 
With patient search and unremitting toil. 
For knowledge seek'st in Nature's mystic realms, 
Nor fear'st alone to tread her darkest paths. 

As from the Samian sage already learned, 

All forms material spring from the realm of Cause, 

And speak the language of Infinite Thought; 

In form, in voice, in color, and in action, — 

As forced to do by their organic laws; 

The rose of Beauty tells; the howHng storm. 

The rolling thunder, and the earthquake's voice 

Are tongues that tell of Nature's mighty power. 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 445 

The song of bird, the hjann by poet sung-, 
The sounding lyre and harp of tuneful note, — 
The picture by the hand of artist wrought, 
And snowy form of sculptured Beauty, are all 
But the plain language of Infinite Cause, — 
Which all may read whose souls are in accord 
With Nature's ever-sounding harmonies! 

Whene'er the mind receptive is of thought 
From the World of Cause, (the realm of spirit-life), 
It then may glimpses catch of brighter things 
Than e'er are seen amid the clouds of earth — 

* * * * ^- * * * * 

Then can it pictures paint: in burning words. 
In glowing colors from the rainbow caught, 
In sketches rude, by hand unskilled in art. 
Or by sounds of strange and weird melody, — 
Which tell of things that ne'er are seen by those 
Who dwell alone upon the sensual plane; 
And echoes catch of sounding harmonies, 
Which ne'er are heard by their insensate ears. 

And this is inspiration! which is but 
To have the mental chords so strung that they 
Will vibrate to the waves of Thought Divine, 
Which ever roll from being's highest realms. 
And wake the souls of those who 've ears to hear! 

One thus awaked is oft a dreamer called. 
Because he sometimes soars above the clouds 
And mists of earth, and in a language speaks 
By the low, sordid mind not understood. 

But the airy pictures by the dreamer wrought 
While catching glimpses of the higher realms, 
Will still be bright when flowers shall cease to bloom 
And solar beams no longer light the sky! 

Therefore, go on! and still this work pursue, 
And if it give thee pleasure, then art thou paid — 
And 'tis not labor lost, though others may 
Upon it look but as a dream of Fancy. 



446 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

The whispering breeze that wakes the ^ohan chord 

By the insensate rock is heeded not; 

The pastoral beauties of the flowery mead, 

Which ever fill the Artist's mind with rapture, 

Wake no emotions in the beastly ox 

As he the herbage crops to stay his hunger. 

And thus the echoes from the World of Cause, 

Which sometimes fall upon the listening ear 

Of one whose mind accords with Nature's laws, 

By the dull, sordid soul are never heard. 

Since all being springs from one Infinite Cause, 
All in kinship together interwoven is — 
From most insensate form to highest type; 
From smallest atom to the mightiest orb; 
All speaking words from one Infinite Book — 
Some in ^olian strains of softest music. 
Some in tempest wild and rolling thunder, 
Some in epic hymn to dying hero sung. 
And some in sighing notes that tell of sorrow, — 
Being all harmonious and accordant sounds 
From Nature's boundless realms of Cause. 

Behold the circle of material being, — 
Embracing all forms of life organic 
Through which is manifest Infinite Thought; 
The higher from the lower form evolved, — 
As graceful stem springs from ungainly root, 
And as from leaf and bud the flower is born; 
Each filling its allotted place in being's chain. 
And all combining in harmonious order 
To form the Oneness of the Universe! 

Behold the monstrous forms of life organic 
That swam the ancient turbid seas of earth 
Ere tree and plant were born, or flower bloomed; 
Ere beast had roamed the shady grove, or bird 
Had sung its song of love! 

Through these monstrous forms the Infinite Mother 
First gave a birth to sensuous life on earth 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 447 

Long ages ere it cradled infant man; 

For beings of grossest form at first were born, 

Such as alone could life sustain amid 

The poisonous waters of the thermal seas, 

In which the first organic life appeared; 

These monsters disappeared, and succeeded were 

By beings of a higher type of form; 

Of whose forthcoming they foretold. 

Already art thou taught that Nature works 
By dual laws in all creative acts; 
From lowest form to that of highest type. 
And that creation is but change of form. 

These duals in pictured language symbolled are; 
One by the brain, the seat of Thought and Will; 
One by the heari, where yearning passion dwells— 
Male and female, through all the realms of Nature, 
And so ordained by universal law. 

In Nature's all-engendering womb, these duals 
Give shape to all the myriad forms of matter 
Through which is manifest mysterious life; 
Each from the Infinite Source receiving 
So much of spirit as its form requires. 

Behold with reverence the mysteries of Creation I 
Nor dare with beastly thought or lewd desire 
Profane the secrets of her holy temple. 
And learn that nought in Nature's sight is base 
Which has been formed by her creative laws, 
And nought is sin save what these laws forbid. 

Through all forms of matter speaks infinite spirit! 
By force attractive, or by stern repulsion; 
And these the language make of Love and Hate — 
To this stern law there no exception is. 

All change and motion in material realms 
Are governed by these stern, imperious laws; 
They hold the planet in its circling path, 
They send the comet on elliptic curve 



448 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

To the far region of its aphelion, 
And to its perihelion call it back 
To light again its torch in solar beams! 

They bid the starry systems cycles mark, 
And aeons count on the eternal dial! 

They wake the breeze that shakes the summer leaf, 
And wing the storm that rends the gnarled oak! 

They paint the rose and shape the lily's form; 
They give the brow of morn its roseate hue, 
And gild the sunset clouds! 

As in material, so in vioral realms, 
They voice the Infinite Soul of Nature — 

They wake the chord that thrills the material heart 
In bird and beast, and in the human breast; 
They paint the blush upon the maiden's cheek 
Responsive to the yearning voice of love, 
When two harmonious souls in wedlock meet. 

And these are Nature's laws of marriage: as seen 
In sleeping mineral, in plant, in blooming flower, 
In bird, in beast, and in highest type of being; 
And in all they are but the voice of God — 
For God is the Spirit of Infinite love ! 

When man shall learn to read these laws divine, 
As writ in Nature's Everlasting Book, — 
And shall obey what by these laws are taught, — 
Then shall harsh discord disappear from earth. 
And, in its stead, be heard sweet songs of love! 
Aye, when man shall learn to list to Reason's voice 
And live in strict accord with Nature's laws, — 
To worship at the shrine where Love and Beauty 
Are clothed in Wisdom's purest robes of light, — 
Then shall Ambition lose his thirst for power; 
The tyrant's arm hang nerveless by his side; 
Cold Avarice then relax his iron grasp; 
Dark Superstition disappear from earth, 
And brutal Passion hide its hideous head. 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 449 

Then shall the rosy bridal-couch be pure 
As is an angel's dream, and no foul stain 
Shall then defile the sacred robes of Venus 
While ministering at the Altar of Creation! 

Then may be born on earth bright things of beauty 
Uncurst by seeds of foul parental taint, 
Which now with sad abortions people earth, 
Doomed by the record of ancestral wrong 
And forced to take a heritage of woe. 

Sad outcasts of earth! Poor diseased ones! 
No prison bars nor dungeons dark can cure 
The bitter curse which they are doomed to bear, 
Nor aught avail the savage penal code 
Which to the hangman gives his brutal office. 
To slay this ghastly hydra of deformity, 
And dry the poisonous springs that give it life. 

First cleanse the fount, — then pure will be the stream! 

Instead of cloistered cells and gloomy aisles 

In which are heard the solemn sound of dirge, 

And where are taught dogmatic rules of faith 

And the law of punishment vindictive, — 

Rear temples to the Good and Beautiful, 

Whose altars shall be wrought by sculptor's art 

From Parian marble in chastest forms of Beauty! 

Whose walls shall be adorned with pictures bright 

Of scenes of love, such as may angels feel ! 

Let breath of flowers the only incense be 

That 's ever offered at the shrine of Love; 

And cheerful thoughts the prayers that there are said — 

Instead of mournful hymns, be heard the sound 

Of sweetest music, mingling with the voice 

Of laughing waters and the songs of birds — 

And to these temples call the sons of earth. 

And teach them there to love the Beautiful! 

Then let man be taught to read the open book 
So clearly writ by Nature's cunning hand; 
And list the teachings of her laws divine — 



450 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

As seen in tree and plant, in leaf and flower, 

In insect, bird, and beast, and upright man, 

In falling snowflake and in rolling orb, 

In frowning brow and face that beams with love! 

As heard in sighing breeze and howling storm. 

In voice of discord and in song of love! 

Then shall he learn that seeming things of earth, 

Are but fleeting shadows from the World of Cause, - 

That man's life on earth is but a passing dream, — 

But one short day of fitful light and shade. 

In which Grief treads upon the heels of Joy, 

And Suffering follows in the path of Pleasure 

In the journey of progressive being 

Towards the ethereal realms where Concord reigns. 

Then shall he learn the nature of his being; 
That he embraces what beneath him is — 
While the empire of his far-reaching mind 
Is boundless as the reach of Thought Divine! 

His earthly being owns what it requires, 

While 'tis a dwelling for the soul immortal 

On its transient journey through the vales of earth; 

While to his mind belong all things on earth. 

And in the higher realms, within its reach! 

The distant star, whose light a thousand years 

Has on its journey been to earth, belongs 

To him whose searching mind can comprehend 

The laws sublime that regulate its being — 

The atom, which with microscopic power 

He brings within his searching vision's range. 

And bids it tell the history of its being, 

Belongs to his far-reaching mind. 

Thus, man is greater than the mightiest orb 
That rolls in splendor through the realms of space!. 
Aye, than all the countless forms of matter 
Through which is manifest Infinite Thought— 
For suns shall cease to glow, and rolling orbs 
Shall perish and to other forms of being change. 
As melts the snowflake in the morning sun 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 451 

And fades the leaf before. the autumn's breath, — 
But mind unchanging and eternal is, 
As is the Spirit of Infinite Cause. 

Go seat thyself beneath a garden tree, 
While the blooming rose is bathed in morning dew. 
And the air is vocal with the songs of birds 
And the humming sound of summer insects; 

Behold the budding flower and fading leaf 
Side by side upon the self-same parent stem, — 
The tender plant beside the withered stalk, — 
And learn from these the lesson of creation. 
Of birth and growth, and of decay and death, 
(Which nothing is but constant change of form); 
Yet these fragile things, whose forms are fleeting 
As figments of a passing midnight dream. 
Have each a spirit which gives it form and color; 
The form is transient, but the spirit lives! 

Behold the glories of the midnight sky! 

The rolling planets in their mighty rounds! 

And beaming stars that gem the brow of night! 

These, to the eye, eternal and unchanging seem. 

And tradition and historic records tell 

That as now they shine they shone in ancient days. 

And seasons marked and time for sons of earth ; 

Yet these, like flowers upon a blooming tree. 

Are born to fade, and die, and pass away. 

The summer leaf and flower in autumn fade, 

But still the tree remains, and blooms again! 

Yet, in time, the parent tree will perish, too, — 

When from its dust one of like form will spring. 

Thus forms, like passing shadows, come and go 

In the vast circle of material being; 

Each expressing the Infinite Spirit 

In language suited to its form specific. 

Then, son of earth! be patient on thy journey 

Of one day through the mortal vales of earth; 

For this is needful to a higher life — 

Weep not o'er the blight of cherished earthly hopes, 



452 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

Nor heed the warring strife of adverse winds; 

Faint not beneath Affliction's heavy load, 

Nor shed regretful tears o'er what is passed; 

But ever look towards the glorious future 

Where all at last shall find a just reward 

When passed are the chilling storms of earthly life. 

San Francisco, 1889. 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 453 

CONVERSATION VI. 

STUDENT AND ANCIENT ONE. 
STUDENT. 

Now tell me, ancient sage, if this thou canst: 

How, when, and where did man his first appearance 

Make on the earth ? 

ANCIENT ONE. 

All changes in material forms on earth, 
Of birth, of growth, and of decay and death, 
Are but result of all-pervading life, 
Which being gives, and form, to all that is; 
From lowest cell in Nature's darkest womb 
To form ethereal of sublimest realms! 
But whence this forceful, active life, not thou 
Canst comprehend, nor even I explain. 
More than to the Infinite I a bound can fix. 

As thou, in former lessons, hast been taught, 
Man from creative law is not exempt; 
He to his present stately form came up 
Through myriad lower orders of creation; 
But though he highest stands in being's scale, 
Of all the countless creatures born of earth. 
He 's still but in the early dawn of life; 
And he, with all his godlike powers of mind, 
Is not so perfect as his humbler kin. 

He 's not so fleet as is the winged bird, 
Nor in form so graceful as the bounding steed; 
The mantling blush upon the maiden's cheek 
Is dull beside the bloom that paints the rose; 
Yet man, although the youngest child of earth. 
Has ascent made from his ancestral tree 
Through aeons, of which no record has been left 
By the recording pen of Memory! 



454 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

With unfolding process Nature ever works 
In the construction of material forms, — 
From sleeping monad in the crystal chained 
To loftiest being of angelic form, 
To voice the soul of sound and pictures paint 
Of Love and Beauty. 

From crystal of prismatic shape is born 
The glowing colors in the rainbow seen; 
But cold and lifeless seems its icy form. 
Nor' needs it light and air for its support. 

The plant organic has its circling veins, 
By vital currents coursed, which give it life. 
And dies whene'er their annual flow is stopped; 
It drinks the dew and breathes the summer air. 
It greets the rising sun with opening flowers. 
And with fragrant breath perfumes the dewy morn. 
But droops and dies, when in the darkness chained; 
And in it faintly dawns the moral sense — 
Since on the summer breeze with downy wings 
It seeks its dual mate in love's embrace. 

Already, from former teachings, hast thou learned 
That earth's primeval oceans teemed with life; 
That hideous monsters swam the ancient seas, 
And slimy reptiles crawled the dismal swamps 
Long ere the browsing herd the meadow roamed, 
Or bird had waked the dewy morn with song! 

Man into conscious being came on earth 
Like plant and tree, and insect, beast, and bird, 
And all things else that have organic life; 
By that unchanging and inherent law 
That shapes the dewdrop and rounds the rolling orb; 
That makes each atom seek its appointed place, 
And bids revolving systems periods mark — 
By the same law that makes the stagnant pool 
Bring forth the tiny sleep-disturbing insect, 
Whose life is measured by a summer's day! 
. He from the earth was born, as was the plant; 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 455 

But who can count the circling ages o'er 
That then were numbered in the age of earth, 
When ih\s prophetic sign of upright man 
Sprang from the ever-teeming womb of earth ? 
And who can tell what untold seons passed 
Ere this primeval sign of lordly man 
Had such advancement made in being's scale 
That it could reason from effect to canse ? 

Now look abroad upon this rolling orb! 

From ice-bound regions, where, 'mid Arctic snows, 

Stern Winter holds his court, — to southern climes. 

Where tropic breezes fan the heated earth, — 

And mark the myriad forms of life organic 

That spring from Nature's all-engendering womb! 

Each fitted for the place that gave it birth, 

And languish would, and die, if thence removed. 

The plant that springs amid the Arctic snows 

Would wither 'neath the burning southern sun; 

The floral grandeur of the tropic woods 

Is ne'er beheld upon the Arctic plains, 

Nor roams the lion where dwells the polar bear. 

The dusky native of the tropic jungle 
Dreads not the tainted air and deadly dew 
That slays the fair-browed son of northern climes, 
Because it is the place that gave him birth. 

STUDENT. 

Then, 'tis not true, — as long it has been taught, — 
That all mankind, wherever found on earth, 
However high or low in being's scale, 
Sprang from one pair, by special act created ? 

ANCIENT ONE. 

No; as well suppose that the Iceland moss 

And the southern palm from the same parents sprang; 

Or that the savage wolf and gentle lamb 

Once in loving friendship the forest roamed, — 

As that the brutal savage of the isles, 



456 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

Who makes foul feast on festering human flesh, 
And the fair-browed son of Caucasian blood 
Are offsprings of one lone-created pair. 

And thus far have we traced the race of man 
From his conception in the womb of earth, 
Until a lord creative he became, 
With power to catch the winged beam of light 
And bid it tell of the far-off shining star — 
From whence it came! 

STUDENT. 

Can measured be, by years of solar time, 
The period long in this transition spent ? 

ANCIENT ONE. 

Nature marks not time by revolving orb. 
Nor planet circling round its central sun. 

Who can count the aeons long that Nature took 

To place the earth in a condition fit 

To life sustain of lowest form organic, 

As in her humblest floral offspring seen ? 

And who can tell how many ages passed. 

Ere the Earth gave birth to more complex growths, 

Which prophesied of higher forms to come ? 

Or tell what circling seons further ran, 

Ere from Nature's self-engendering womb 

Was born the plant of highest type organic. 

Which shadowed forth the upright form of man ? 

Man works with eager and impatient haste, 
By grasping greed or by ambition urged. 
That he may reach the end for which he toils, 
Within the circle of his earthly life — 
But Nature works not thus in peopling worlds: 
With her a thousand ages are no more 
Than fleeting moments of a passing day; 
And atom wandering on the evening breeze 
Imports as much as does the rolling orb 
That Hghts the brow of night! 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 457 

STUDENT. 

Are any limits fixed to human progress ? 
Does man advance so far, and not beyond ? 
Is his advancement Hke an ocean wave, 
Which onward rolls till into spray 't is dashed 
Upon the shores of dark forgetfulness ? 

ANCIENT ONE. 

On the material plane where Mammon reigns, — 

Where Hermes rules, — where rosy Bacchus dwells, 

And revel keeps beneath the clustering vine, 

And smiling Venus holds her Cyprian court, — 

A limit is to progress; on such plane 

The miser's hoarded gold him profits not. 

Nor wealth by commerce won contentment brings. 

The daintiest food in time will bring disgust, 
And sensual pleasures are with poisons mixed; 
But in the realm sublime where Wisdom dwells 
No limit can be fixed to mind progressive. 

The monumental pile will turn to dust, 
The proudest name in time will be forgot; 
But Thought sublime, like Truth, eternal is. 
And onward is its flight towards the Infinite. 

STUDENT. 

Then, 't were wise in man to seek the better way 
That ends not on the shores of hopeless gloom, 
But upwards leads to realms where Beauty dwells, 
Unsullied by the stains of sensual life! 

But tell me, Ancient One, if in thy power — 
Since Nature's laws with all perfection work, 
Nor useless wheel nor broken link is found 
In all her works so vast and complicate, — 
Whence come the ills, the suffering, sin, and crime 
That darken and deform all earthly life ? 
Is source of Good the source of Evil, too ? 
Do these two streams from the same fountain flow ? 
If so, how can the fountain then be pure ? 



458 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

ANCIENT ONE. 

The first faint streaks that Hght the brow of morn 
When rosy twilight wakes the sleeping earth, 
Spring from the same effulgent source of light 
That gives its brightness to the noonday hour; 
And thus the faintest signs of sensuous life 
Which animate the lowest form of being 
Spring from the same all-giving Source of Life 
From which the loftiest mind receives its light! 

Though on his brow the light of reason beams, 

Man in his structure shows the lower links 

In being's chain progressive through which he 's passed 

To reach the point where he at present stands; 

He, on the earthly plane, a compound is 

Of spirit bright and grovelling passions low; 

He gifted is with godlike powers of mind — 

On wings of thought he soars to heights sublime. 

And pictures draws of scenes of fairest beauty! 

And deep descends to Nature's darkest caves, 

And learns the secrets of her hidden realms! 

Yet subject is to all material laws 

By which earth's humbler children are controlled — 

A slave he is to hunger and to thirst, 

And to the impulse strong which Nature gives 

To all her children to create their kind. 

The brute no Mentor has, save Nature's laws. 

To curb, direct, and guide its craving passions; 

And hence it ne'er o'ersteps their wholesome bounds. 

It has no cunning hand with which to toil, — 

Hence cannot till the soil, nor weapons form 

To slay its fellow and destroy its kind; 

Nor aught create to minister to pleasure, — 

Nor aught obtain to satisfy its wants 

Beyond what Nature has for it prepared; 

It therefore can commit no moral wrong — 

It is, in Nature's household, still a child! 

But thinking man has reached a point above 

The nursery plane where dwells the humble brute, 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 459 

Nor subject is to Nature's leading-strings, 
But to his reason is accountable! 
And if he heed not what her precepts teach, 
He needs upon himself must suffering bring. 

All things of beauty which from Nature spring, 
And all conceptions in the World of Art 
Which color give and form to pictures bright 
Are but the offspring of harmonious laws! 
And forces in harmonious concert form 
The graceful curves that lines of beauty trace: 
In stem and branch of tree, in twining vine. 
In leaf and flower, symmetric form of fruit, 
In swelling ocean wave, in curling mist, 
In drooping willow, and in waving corn — 
In form of insect, bird, and beast, — and lines 
Of beauty in the human face divine! 
And colors, too, combine in harmony, 
And pictures form of gentle love and beauty, 
Which fill the mind with rapture and delight 
And make their creators' names immortal. 

Nature's warring forces, as shown in whirlwind, 
In earthquake, lightning, storm, and tempest wild, 
Are but her efforts made to find repose. 
These warring forces needs discordant are; 
Hence, uncouth pictures form in angles sharp. 
Which fill the mind untutored with dismay. 

As dual forces, when they balanced are. 
Give birth to graceful forms and pictures bright, 
So, when harmonious on the moral plane, 
Their offspring ever will be things of beauty, 
With no harsh lines to mar their harmony 
And give them features of discordant evil. 

Soft is the music where sweet Concord reigns 
'Mid flowers that bloom beneath the smiles of Love! 
And where'er this condition may be found, 
There too is found the dwelling-place of Good; 
But where harsh Discord dwells, there Evil reigns,; 



46o IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

And serpents hiss among the poisonous weeds 
Where lurks the monster of malignant Hate. 

As sweet Concord but a condition is, 

So is opposing Discord but a state; 

Nor can the one be called unchanging Good, 

Nor the other the spirit dark of changeless Evil. 

What varied strains of melody are born 
From the few primal notes in music known! 
Some that tell of scenes of pastoral beauty; 
Of golden sunbeams, and of flowery fields; 
Some that tell of lightning, storm, and earthquake- 
Some that tell of warring strife, and battle fierce- 
Some that sing of love; some that tell of hate, 
Of joy, of grief, of hope, of dark despair — 
Yet all these varied pictures are produced 
By ringing changes on these primal notes. 
And, from the colors in the rainbow seen. 
What countless pictures are by the artist wrought 
Of harmonious Beauty or of warring Strife! 

STUDENT. 

If Harmony be Good, and it is born 
From strict observance of harmonious laws, 
By which is ruled the universe of being, — 
And Evil springs from disregard of law, — 
And man a free agent is, with Reason 
For a guide in pursuit of his well-being, — 
Then his own judgment should him teach to live 
In strict accord with Nature's ruling law! 

ANCIENT ONE. 

If man had reached perfection in his being. 

Like those who 've passed to highest realms of life, 

Then would his nature be in strict accord 

With highest law of perfect harmony; 

He then would need no guide to keep him right, 

Since to himself he then a law would be. 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 461 

At midnight all things are in darkness hid ; 
Nor form, nor color bright distinguished is — 
In morning twilight these are dimly seen, 
And at the noonday hour the meadow green, 
The field and forest and the sunny glade 
Are clothed in floral robes of light and beauty! 

The mineral still in midnight darkness sleeps — 

The lower orders of organic life 

Are still in the early mornmg twilight ; 

While on the head of man the risen sun 

Sheds some slant beams of intellectual light. 

Yet far below the noonday of his being. 

He flounders still in bogs of sensual passion. 

No task on earth has man so difficult 
As rightly to adjust a balance fair 
Between the compounds of his dual nature: 
One drags him down to beastly appetite. 
The other bids him look to higher realms! 
Yet both are needful on the earthly plane; 
But both should subject be to reason. 

If man live on the sensual plain alone, 

Then is he still within the brutal realm; 

But if he crush all passion in his soul. 

Unfit he is to dwell upon the earth — 

Since, while he dwells upon the earthly plane, 

Must be regarded his material needs; 

And when the balance fair is well preserved 

Between his earthly wants and higher thoughts, 

Then with Nature's laws is life harmonious. 

STUDENT. 

^2/// then is not, as in creed 'tis taught, 

An independent power at war with Good ; 

But a condition of diseased passion, 

Which from intemperate use and ignorance springs ? 



462 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

ANCIENT ONE. 

What would man be without his hopes, his fears, 

His longing aspirations and desires; 

His loves, his hates, and all the attributes 

That dignify him as a moral being? 

Yet all these, when by reason unrestrained, 

Become degrading vices; just as fire, 

When uncontrolled, becomes a fell destroyer! 

No thrilling passion of the human soul. 
By Nature's law, but needful is to man 
Upon his journey through the vales of earth. 

STUDENT. 

If dual forces are creative agents. 

And are result of harmonious laws. 

Why are their offspring often found imperfect ? 

Why are abortions often found on earth. 

And chiefly in the human race ? 

ANCIENT ONE. 

Look to the realms of inorganic being! 
Behold the crystal in the caves of earth. 
And snowflake falling from the wintry cloud! 
With these creative laws have not been checked, — 
Hence, in symmetric form, they perfect are; 
And in leaf and flower, insect, bird, and beast 
But rarely are abortions found in form, 
Since Nature's laws creative they obey. 

Ascending in the scale to reasoning man, 

We find abortive and distorted forms — 

And rarely do we see symmetric beauty, 

And never such a human face divine 

As Raphael to his creations gave 

Of his conception of an angel's face, 

By inspiration's beaming light received 

From realms where Beauty's form is never marred 

By violation of harmonious laws. 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 463 

Hadst thou a vision of sufficient power, 
Then couldst thou clearly see the aural sphere 
Pertaining to each organic being, 
And which from its inherent nature springs, 
As from the flower is its aroma born. 

When on earth two aurals in contact come. 

If they accord, no jarring shock is felt, 

Since they assimilate in harmony; 

The circling currents meeting no obstruction, 

A strong attractive impulse then is felt 

Between the dwellers of such aural spheres; 

And this \s friendship pure ; and, too, 'tis love! 

But if these aural spheres discordant are, 

Then, when they meet, there will be jarring strife; 

Since by attractive and repulsive laws 

Does Nature work in all material worlds 

In acts creative and destructive. 

On these strict laws are based the loves and hates 
Of all the sensuous beings found on earth; 
And in the lower kingdoms, too, they rule 
Where forms by chemic laws are made, and where 
By the same laws they are destroyed. 

But of all attractions and repulsions, 
The strongest far are those of sexual duals— 
Where these harmonious are is Paradise; 
But where discordant, there is found a hell! 
And disregard of this essential law 
Productive is of countless ills on earth 
Among her offspring of the highest form. 

The plant ne'er violates this dual law, 

Nor humble brute o'ersteps the bounds prescribed; 

But man, with Reason's light upon his brow,'. 

With madness disregards the sacred laws 

By which material forms created are; 

And, led by avarice, lust, or base desire. 

He ventures oft to tread forbidden ground, 



464 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

And thus upon himself misfortune brings 
And to his offspring leaves a life of woe. 

STUDENT. 

Does then the parent to the child transmit 
The mental features which it may possess ? 
If so, does not this then the spirit make 
The offspring of the parents, and their creation ? 

ANCIENT ONE. 

Each earthly form, by Nature's laws produced, 
A spirit will attract to suit such form; 
This is by Nature's changeless law decreed. 
'T is this that gives the rose its fragrant breath, 
The nightingale and lark their notes of song. 
The fox its cunning — to the lion courage. 
And to the serpent its desire to sting. 
No form, however high or low it be. 
But has a spirit to its being suited. 

STUDENT. 

If this be so, how then correct the evil 
Which springs from operation of these laws ? 
And who to Justice must account therefor. 
Since nothing high or low itself creates, 
But into being comes by laws organic ? 

ANCIENT ONE. 

The lower forms of life organic perish 

When the conditions change from whence they sprang; 

And thus have many races disappeared 

Since the first sensuous child of earth was born. 

But higher forms by culture are improved, 

And made express a higher form of life: 

The rose becomes more beautiful in form, 

The savage beast more gentle in its nature; 

When deadly swamps and stagnant pools are drained. 

Malaria disappears, and healthful plants 

Are found where serpents hissed 'mong noxious weeds. 



I 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 465 

As lower beings by culture are improved, 
So, by the same means, is the race of man; 
Since, by the same laws, his being is controlled. 

To improve his plants no pains the florist spares; 
And on his blooded stock the racing sportsman 
Grudges not to spend his time and millions, 
That he may see one brute outspeed another 
But by the measure of a second's time, — 
While the creative law he disregards 
Which to his owrt offspring their being gives! 

When man shall learn to heed the voice of Reason; 

To seek for pleasure in the path of Wisdom; 

That o'er-indulgence bears a deadly sting, 

And selfish pleasure ever brings a curse — 

And when he further learns that purest pleasure 

Springs from unselfish acts of kindness done,— 

That no human being independent is, 

Or can himself divorce from Nature's laws, — 

Then will dawn the day millennial, foreseen 

By ancient seer, when guilt and crime will cease 

On earth, and it may be a Paradise! 

STUDENT. 

Could not man so by Nature have been formed 
As to be free from the besetting ills 
Which on life's journey him so sorely scourge 
That oft he lays the heavy burden down. 
And seeks repose in self-destruction ? 

ANCIENT ONE. 

If beings by special act created were, 

As forms of beauty are from marbles wrought. 

And pictures bright are on the canvas drawn, — 

Then might a rose be born without a thorn; 

A rosy cloud without a stagnant pool, 

(From whence it sprang to greet the morning sun); 

Then, man on earth, might be an angel born! 

But Nature ever works by laws progressive. 

As everywhere is shown, where'er we look. 



466 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

In highest regions of extremest Hght, 
And where Cimmerian gloom in darkness sleeps, 
Eternal silence dwells in dreamless rest. 
Between these extremes is found all active life! 

No picture e'er was wrought with light alone, 
Nor can the brow of night be darker made; 
All paintings are by color-contrast wrought, 
And moral pictures must show light and shade. 

If man created were in highest realm, 
Where no shade of sorrow e'er upon him fell. 
Then Hope would never sing; nor gentle Pity 
E'er sigh and shed a tear on Sorrow's head; 
Nor soft-eyed Charity, with gentle hand, 
E'er soothe the suffering sons of want. 
Nought of the angelic virtues could he know 
Which now adorn and grace his moral nature; 
Hence, to make him perfect as a moral being, 
The furnace must be passed of suffering. 

STUDENT. 

Then, the apparent discords found on earth 
Do not disturb the sounding harmonies 
Which ever roll from Nature's mighty anthem > 

ANCIENT ONE. 

No more than does the falling autumn leaf 
Disturb the motion of this rolling orb! 
Or raindrop on the ocean's heaving breast 
Affect the flowing of its mighty tides! 

The rolling orb obeys unchanging law; 

It wakes the morn and shuts the eye of day, 

And brings the seasons at their proper times; 

And, in obedience to inherent law. 

The wandering atom finds its appointed place:— 

In Nature's deepest caves of darkest night; 

In fiery vortex of an embryo world, 

Or 'mid the ruins of a worn-out orb; 

In sulphurous flames, or locked in polar ice; 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 467 

In raging storm, or on the evening breeze; 
In rugged oak, or in the blooming rose; 
In serpent's fang, or in the sage's brain, — 
Impelled by its inherent spirit-life. 
It ever still its upward course pursues 
Towards the all-embracing Source of Life, 
Where forms are lost in all-reposing Oneness! 

As sap ascends from root to emerald leaf 
To give the blooming flower its life and beauty,— 
As from the heart the crimson current flows 
And to the body gives its life and strength,— 
And as the solar beams give life and shape 
To all material forms, wherever found, — 
From glowing Hermes, on the solar skirts, 
To far-off" Neptune, in his wintry sphere, — 
So the Infinite Source of life and being 
From unapproach^d realms of purest light. 
Where no finite being can self-conscious dwell. 
Gives life and form to all that being has! 

From this Infinite Source no discord springs, 
More than from Truth sublime is Falsehood born, 
Or that from purest light can darkness spring. 

San Francisco, 1891. 



468 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

CONVERSATION VII. 

STUDENT AND ANCIENT ONE. 

STUDENT. 

One question more I fain would ask of thee, 

O dweller of sublimest realms! 

Where ends the onward journey of the soul, 

Beyond the confines of its earthly life ? 

Still onward is its upward flight, until 

Identic being is forever lost 

In an infinite ocean; and is such 

The end of conscious being ? ** 

ANCIENT ONE. 

Son of Earth! step by step hast thou been led 
Up to where this last question needs is asked. 
And which is needs the last that cafi be asked; 
Since nought the human mind can grasp beyond. 
While still it sojourns in the vales of earth. 
Now lend a listening ear, while I explain 
What I may know and thou canst comprehend 
Of soul-existence and the mysteries 
Of spirit incarnation. 

Pure, formless spirit ne'er created was. 
And hence it no beginning has nor end; 
Therefore, with reason, the Infinite Spirit 
Is symboUed by a perfect winged sphere. 
Since it nor ending nor beginning has — 
And, however viewed, it ever is the same; 
And, by however many planes divided is, 
Y^diCh. plane by a circle will bounded be; 
And infinite are the circles it contains. 

Now, look abroad wherever life is found! 
Through all the realms of Nature's universe — 
From lowest form to that of highest mould, 
From humble glowworm up to flaming sun, 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 469 

From tiniest insect up to proudest man, 

And mark the myriad forms that there are seen! 

In all is spirit incarnation found, 

And all in form beginning have and end. 

The solar orb that lights the azure sky 

In light and form no more eternal is 

Than are the pictures of a midnight dream; 

And brow of sage will crumble into dust 

As does the meanest worm he treads upon! 

Where now the monstrous forms that peopled once 

The ancient oceans of primeval earth ? 

They all have passed away, nor record left. 

Save what is found in the historic rock. 

Yet lived they not in vain; but just as well 

Their task performed in Nature's workshop vast 

As moral beings of the highest form; 

Nor perished has the life that bade them toil, 

A dwelling to prepare for higher forms, — 

But active is, in other forms of being. 

Some end to reach in Nature's fixed design. 

All forms their circles of existence have, 

In which they move, some labor to perform 

In Nature's lab'ratory of Creation; 

Which, when accomplished is, the form itself ' 

To implement of higher use is changed. 

Observe the circling being of the plant: 

From seed is born the stem, and leaf, and flower; 

And from \\\q flower is born again the seed! 

And this completes the being of the plant — 

No higher can it reach in form. The seed 

To earth returns, another plant to form! 

From seed to stem, and branch, and leaf, and flower 

(The fragrant cradle of an embryo plant), 

Thus it fulfils the object of its being — 

Food to prepare for higher forms of life. 

Upon a tender leaf the winged moth 

Its offspring leaves, in shape of tiny ^^'g — 



470 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

The summer sunbeams on it fall, and lo! 
A worm is born, which feeds upon the leaf- 
As worm, it lives its full appointed time. 
At end of which it weaves a fitting shroud. 
In which (as worm) it sleeps the sleep of death; 
But to again be born as butterfly! 
A while to sport upon the summer breeze; 
To leave an embryo of its kind, and die; 
And thus the circle of its being ends. 
It reached in form perfection of its kind, 
And could no higher climb the scale of being 
In fragile form of gaudy butterfly. 

And thus it is with all organic forms 
Below the realms where Reason holds her court; 
They reach in form perfection, greater far 
Than e'er is found among the race of man. 

Nor in organic life alone is seen 
The workings of this universal law: 
Waked by the beams of the all-ruling sun, 
The viewless vapors from the ocean rise 
Towards the azure of the arching heavens! 
The cloud is born; the forked lightnings flash; 
The thunder speaks, and bids the cloud descend 
In showers of rain upon the thirsty earth; 
The mountain streams are formed, and rivers flow, 
Which seek the bosom of the mighty deep, 
In which, for a time, they in sleep are lost,— 
But to be born anew as vapory cloud! 

STUDENT. 

The lower orders of creation, then. 

Are not endowed with spirit-life that lives 

Beyond the limits of their earthly being ? 

ANCIENT ONE. 

No spirit-Hfe, or force, was ever lost; 
Nor was material essence e'er destroyed; 
For in essential being all eternal is; 



IMA GINAR y CONVERSA TIONS. 47 1 

KvAform alone, by change, will pass away 

As melts the cloud upon the summer sky. 

Matter but a condition is of what 

In essence as eternal is 2iS force ; 

But countless are the forms which it may take, 

As pictured language of Eternal Thought 

Expressed by incarnation in material forms. 

The humblest creature in the scale of being 

Is warmed by all-pervading spirit-life, 

And with thought endowed to suit its nature; 

Whether it be instinct called or reason. 

It nought affects the workings of the law; 

And this eternal is as loftiest thought 

That lights a sage's or an angel's brow. 

Like all the humbler offspring of the earth, 
Man, too, his circle of existence runs; 
Which, though it bounded is, is vaster far 
Than that of aught below him, born of earth ; 
For he has reached the realm of moral being, 
And Reason sheds her light upon his brow! 

All being in the realm of Soul or Passion 
Must active periods have, and of repose : 
A night of rest succeeds a day of toil; 
At eve the fiow'ret folds its leaves, and sleeps; 
Cold Winter bids the Summer rest from toil, 
And man in silent slumber seeks repose. 
Man, therefore, his circle has of 'moral being; 
Since he at last must reach a point where Hope 
Will fall asleep upon Fruition's breast; 
Will cease to sing, and point with rosy hand 
To some still brighter future; and gentle Love 
No longer bid him seek companionship — 
Then, for a time, the soul must fall asleep, 
To wake again in some inferior realm, — 
And, incarnated in material life. 
Again inform express infnite thought ! 



472 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

STUDENT. 

How long, as measured by the years of time, 
Will this progressive journey occupy ? 
Or can it measured be by finite mind ? 

ANCIENT ONE. 

Mnemosyne, with her recording pen. 
No record e'er has made of time so long; 
Nor measure can the highest number known 
The period vast as marked by solar time. 

The end is reached — when nothing lies beyond 
To onward lead the mind in search of knowledge! 

The end is reached— -wh^n backward looks the soul 
O'er the tremendous journey it has passed, 
And marks the lower forms in which it dwelt 
In its ascent towards the realms of light! 

The end is reached— v^hen quickened Memory 
Looks down the vista of the aeons past, 
And recalls eternities of being 
Since last it stood upon the soundless shore 
Of that Infinite Deep where all is still — 
Where longings cease, and passion falls asleep, 
And where no finite being e'er can dwell 
And conscious be of moral attributes. 

STUDENT. 

This, then, is nought but cold annihilation, 
If perish all the moral attributes — 
If Love, and Hope, and every passion die — 
This, then, is end of individual being, 
And the soul is, therefore, not immortal ? 

ANCIENT ONE, 

When earth is curtained by the shades of night, 
In sleep her weary children seek repose; 
The flower folds its leaves, and bird and beast 
Forget the past in silent slumbers deep, 
Again to wake to life at morning's dawn! 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 473 

In sleep profound, the past is all forgot, 
Though last the slumber for a thousand years ! 
Or for the hours of a summer's night — 
'Tis to the dreamless sleeper all the same; 
Since to his mind has not one moment passed. 
For time alone is marked by changing scenes ; 
WhQYG /orm/ess silence reigns no time exists. 

When ended is the term of earthly life, 

And worn the body is with toil and age, 

Comes then the night of death to earthly life; 

The transient night of dreamless sleep, from which 

The soul awakes, as wakes the winged moth 

When from the chrysalis 't is born anew. 

And, with renewed form and record made 

In earthly life, it finds its proper place; 

Just as the fleecy cloud will take its place 

In the clear azure of the summer sky! 

Therefore, the restful sleep sought by the soul 
At end of cycles vast of moral being 
No more eternal is than is the sleep 
The weary toiler seeks at set of sun. 

STUDENT. 

Among the many races of mankind. 

And 'mong those who to the same race belong, 

Are grades of intellectual moral being: 

Some are wise and good, and some are foolish ; 

Some pleasure take in acts of charity, — 

While some delight in acts of cruel wrong; 

Some wealth and earthly honors seek, and some 

Delight to tread the path that leads to knowledge. 

In the beyond how will adjusted be 

The lots of those who thus have lived on earth ? 

ANCIENT ONE. 

The moth by Nature is supplied with wings. 
On which to sport upon the summer breeze! 
When ended is its humble life as worm. 
It sports its fleeting heaven away, and dies — 



474 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

Its spirit-life then takes another form 
In strict obedience to imperious law. 

But man has reached the scale of moral being, 

And must his future for himself prepare; 

He has no wings, as has the summer moth, 

On which to reach a paradise of flowers; 

He has no wings, save those of Thought Divine, 

On which to reach the home of Truth and Beauty! 

If while a dweller on the earthly plane 

He well improve his time, and learn to soar 

On wings of thought to higher realms than earth, — 

Then, when he breaks the prison bars of Time, 

By force of law attractive he '11 ascend 

To realms for which he has himself prepared; 

Just as the rising mist will seek its place 

As rosy cloud, and find specific rest. 

But if man, while he sojourns here on earth, 
Ne'er look above the sensual plane of being. 
But spend his time in seeking sensual pleasures, — 
In gathering wealth, and in pursuit of fame. 
Alone to gratify a vain ambition, — 
Then, when he 's run his selfish race on earth, 
And is compelled to leave his household gods, — 
He '11 reach the place for which he 's best prepared- 
Just as water, when on the ground 'tis poured, 
Will find its natural and specific level. 

This is as certain as decrees of Fate; 

By law imperious will his soul be bound 

In sensual chains, which he himself has forged, 

And which, not e'en by Mercy, can broken be; 

For Justice ne'er the voice of Mercy heeds. 

STUDENT. 

And is there no redemption then for those 
Who, while on earth, have failed to cultivate 
The wings of Thought Sublime, on which to soar 
To the high realms where Love and Beauty dwell ? 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 475 

Are they in darkness ever doomed to dwell 
Without the power to seek for higher things ? 

ANCIENT ONE. 

The spark divine that animates the soul, 
Though it be dimmed by vice and low desire, 
Is never in eternal darkness quenched; 
For that which is divine is never lost! 

No human soul can reach the realm sublime 
Where Wisdom reigns and Love and Beauty dwell 
Unsullied by the stains of earthly life, 
Until it is itself as pure as is that realm. 

When one has spent his three-score years and ten 

Of life upon the sensual plane alone, 

Has wallowed in the pool of beastly lusts, 

Has cruel been, and lived for self alone, — 

Has laurels won deep-dyed in human blood 

And stained with widows' and with orphans' tears — 

Though a demigod be he in mental power, — 

When his proud empire he is forced to leave. 

He, like a scourged hound, will trembling go 

Down to the realms of gloom, with all the debt 

Which he against hiynself recorded has 

In the relentless book of Justice stern— 

And there remain, till by himself alone 

To the last farthing shall the debt be paid. 

From this just law no being can escape; 
Nor can the debt be paid by other hand 
Than that of him who did the debt contract; 
But when the debts by credits balanced are. 
Then the redeemed soul will upward rise 
Towards the home of Love Divine! 

STUDENT. 

Canst tell how long the one thus self-condemned 
Is doomed to dwell in that remorseful gloom. 
Ere he may expiate the wrongs he wrought 
While dwelling on the earthly plane of life? 



476 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS, 

ANCIENT ONE. 

Degrees there are of moral turpitude — 
Where little grain is sown, light is the harvest; 
And if none be sown, none can then be reaped. 

The one endowed with lofty powers of mind, 
Who from effect can reason back to cause. 
And who from cause can prophesy effect, 
Can darker crimes and greater wrongs commit 
Than can the one of low and brutal nature; 
And, hence, the debt will ever measured be 
By the moral nature of the debtor. 

No one can tell the time it may require 

Beyond the limits of the earthly sphere 

For a degraded soul to cleanse itself 

From the slimy filth it may have gathered 

In its prior forms of life incarnate; 

Or what penance it may have to suffer, 

Or further incarnations doomed to pass 

Ere it be fit to take a higher form. 

And dwell where nought is found to soil the robes 

That Truth and Beauty wear in realms sublime! 

But however long the toilsome journey be, 
It must be trod ere the high goal is reached, 
Where, cleansed from all the stains of earthly life^ 
The self-redeemed soul will find a home 
Where angels dwell. 

STUDENT. 

Then spirit incarnation is a truth, 
And it may be repeated oft ? 

ANCIENT ONE. 

The soul can never the conditions reach 
Of abstract spirit and still its passions keep; 
More than can picture e'er be wrought or thought 
Can be expressed without material aid; 
Or dwellers of the deep can breathe the air 
Made vocal by the songs of summer birds; 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 477 

And all incarnated being needs must 

Seasons have of active life, and so-called death, 

Which but a semblance is of gentle sleep. 

Where'er we look, in all material realms, 

All forms exist through spirit incarnation ; 

And since matter, in essence, is eternal, 

And form is but result of incarnation, — 

'Tis manifest that spirit incarnations 

May as countless be, and as varied, too, 

As are the pictures wrought by light and shade, 

Or by the notes from chords of music born; 

And that they may repeated be as long 

As spirit-life exist, which manifest is made 

Through all organic forms, wherever found: 

The bloom that tints the blushing rose may once 

Have given the sunset cloud its golden hue; 

And sound that 's born from the ^olian chord 

May once have waked a Homer's epic lyre. 

Or echoed been in hymn by angel sung! 

And, therefore, incarnation is a law 

Of moral being, from which there 's no escape. 

The loftiest dweller of sublimest realms. 

Whose soul possesses moral attributes 

An incarnation is of spirit-life; 

And in the lower realms of being, too. 

Is incarnation seen, where'er we look — 

The rose a spirit has that gives it form, ' 

As has the loftiest individual being 

Who from effect can reason back to cause. 

How many incarnations there may be 

Of spirit-life that gives the rose its form 

Ere the realm be reached of abstract spirit. 

Not I can say, nor thou couldst comprehend. 

STUDENT. 

Thy teachings, Ancient One (whoe'er thou art), 
Have shed some rays of Hght upon my mind. 
Dimly to comprehend I now begin 
Such mysteries of life and so-called death. 



478 IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

And of the mechanism of creation, 

As can be grasped, or one should seek to learn 

While shrouded in the mists of earth : 

That, in essence, all being is eternal ; 

That ever-changing forms expressions are 

Of all-pervading and infinite mind. 

Which spirit is of all that being has; — 

That time, and place, and force, and good, and ill, 

Do not exist, save in connection with 

Material forms which, in essence, are eternal; 

That every moral attribute of soul. 

And every atom in material form, 

Are portions of the universal whole — 

And hence that spirit and material form 

Exist together, and eternal are in essence! 

ANCIENT ONE. 

Such are the truths sublime that Reason teaches, 
As may be learned whene'er we wisely read 
What has been clearly writ in Nature's book. 

All forms material limits have and bounds; 
But no prison bars can chain Eternal Thought, 
Nor aught can clip the wings on which it flies, — 
Or fix a limit to its empire wide, 
Save coward Fear, or Superstition's chains — 
Its empire lies where'er its wings have power 
To bear it onward in the search of truth; 
And as its wings increase in strength by use, 
Its empire widens and extends its bounds! 

All forms material change and pass away, 
As changing clouds upon the summer sky; 
They fade from sight, and ne'er are seen again, — 
But Thought Eternal is, as Law, — divine. 

What though at last must end the circle vast 
Of moral being! 

At that transcendent point, 
The warder, Memory, backward looks, and knows 



IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 479 

That there, in aeons past, it stood before; 
And Thought Immortal tells ^2i\. yet again 
In some far future it there will conscious be; 
And, if e'en at 07ie point in the cycle vast, 
The past be all recalled — the whole circle seen — 
Then is nothing lost and being is eternal ! 

seeker of the Truth! now close thine eyes. 
And in a dreamy trance shalt thou behold 

A VISION OF THE INFINITE. 

As if in sleep, 'neath the curtains of night, 
My spirit was borne to a region of light, 
Where breeze never blows, nor rain ever falls, 
Where Hope never sings, nor Love ever calls. 

1 stood at a point, in the circle sublime, 
Where no shadow is cast on the dial of Time; 
Where \}ciQpast and the presefit are mingled in one, — 
Where one cycle of being eternal has run! 

As I glanced down the deep, with an all-seeing eye, 
To the realms where forms are born but to die, — 
To a region of change, of sunshine, and shade. 
Where the leaves of summer in autumn must fade, — 

I saw the bright galaxies of planets and suns 
That mark off the aeons of time as it runs. 
And sound through the depths of the infinite sea 
The minutes and the hours of eternity. 

My ear caught the rhythm as it floated afar 
From the bright rolling orb, and the clear-chiming star. 
Till it mingled with the song that the wild waters sing, 
And the quick, humming sound of the insect's wing! 

I felt the bright waves of effulgence that roll 
From the pulses that spring from the Infinite Soul, 
Which down to the deeps of the lowest profound, 
Is the life of all form, and the soul of all sound! 



48o IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. 

The past was unrolled— and, clear to my eye, 
Was spread out the record of aeons gone by; 
I saw all the forms through which I had passed, 
In the circle of one day, which was ended at last. 

Bright Hope was asleep— all passion was gone— 

My being was left with Thought all alone, 

In that dread region of silence and light 

Where no shadow e'er falls from the black wing of Night. 

Overwhelmed with the silence, I hungered again 
For the region where pleasure is mingled with pain; 
Where the sunshine of joy is shaded by sorrow, 
And Hope ever sings of some brighter to-morrow! 

With a will almighty, in slumbers to sink, 
Of the waters of Lethe I thought me to drink, 
That»a sleep of repose and rest I might take — 
In an embryo form again to awake 

In some lower realm of sunshine and storm 
Where thought takes a shape and passion has form; 
But ere the cup I could drink, the dream fled away 
In the bright, rosy beams that waked the young day! 

City of Mexico, 1892. 



649 . 






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